


In Your Heart Believe What In My Heart I Know

by umakoo



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Coming of Age, Cunnilingus, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Intersex Loki, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Jötunn Loki, Jötunn Thor, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Slow Burn, Squirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-19 12:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9439988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/pseuds/umakoo
Summary: A Jötunn AU set in Utgård where both Thor and Loki are Jötnar, Thor a blacksmith and Loki the jarl's youngest son. Their lives become intertwined through friendship, which time shapes into something deeper.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curds_and_wheyface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/gifts).



> The fic is complete, but I made the decision to split it into 7 separate chapters since it's almost 47k and the timeline spans several decades. Unless something comes up and I'm kept away from my laptop, I'll update with a new chapter every night :)
> 
> A BIG thanks to my besties curds-and-wheyface and sheilatakesabow for the endless amount of support and cheerleading, and for all the help I've received from them during the long months I worked on this fic! I couldn't have done it without you two! ♥ I also want to thank thorkizilla for her helpful suggestions and chocolatetigerposts for a super efficient beta read.
> 
>  
> 
> There are some [**worldbuilding sketches**](http://pohjanneito.tumblr.com/tagged/illustrations) in my art tag if someone is interested :) The concept of the panserbjørne is borrowed from Philip Pullman. 
> 
> **Warnings: age difference, brief violence, hunting related animal death.** Additional note: this is quite a slow-burn fic, and Loki is a child/pre-teen for the first quarter of the story, but he will be around 16-17 in human years when the relationship turns romantic, while Thor is in his mid/late 20s.

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

**_First Acquaintances_ **

 

Thor set the chest plate on the anvil and brought his hammer down on the glowing surface, the muscles in his arm bulging with each strike as the metal bent to his will. Quartz-iron was hard to temper, and Thor worked through the morning hours, the light outside of his smithy growing brighter as the sun climbed over the mountains that cradled Utgård in their bosom.

 

Once the plate was complete, Thor set his tools aside and carried the piece to the armory at the back of the workshop. He arranged it on a wooden dummy with the rest of the armor and reached into his tool belt to pull out a magnifying crystal, inspecting each seam and joint, for he’d been commissioned by the Jarl himself. The plates were large and blunt and the metal held no decorations, for this was no ceremonial armor meant to impress. This gear was made for battle and it had taken Thor months to complete it. Pleased with his work, he slipped the crystal back into his tool belt and wiped his face with the hem of his leather apron, deciding he had earned a small break.

 

The crisp horning moon air stung his skin as he left the heat of his workshop, and the wind wailed like a living thing as it blew against the mountainside. A thick mass of clouds shrouded the west summit, their grey and purple mounds promising heavy snowfall in the coming days. Thor followed the path of his own footprints back to his cabin on the other side of the outcrop, where his great-grandfather Bölþorn had pitched it long before Thor’s birth. The deadwood logs were grey with age and covered in lichen, but sturdy enough to withstand even the harshest of winter winds. He had a room at his grandmother’s inn for days when the steep road to the mountain became too perilous to pass, but Thor had never bothered to buy a house in the city, for he enjoyed his solitary life high above Utgård.

 

Bjarke slumbered in his usual spot by the porch stairs, the mound of his back rising and falling with his deep breaths. The old bear lifted his head to acknowledge Thor’s presence and went back to sleep, his white coat barely visible in the snow. Thor grabbed his waterskin from the wooden knob by the door and took a seat in Bölþorn’s old whittling chair. He brought the bottle to his lips and turned his eyes down to survey Utgård’s midday bustle.

 

The polar night was coming to an end and gone were the idle hours spent in the warmth of mead halls with drink and stories the only thing to pass the time. People were on the move again, and the market square in the western side of the city was full of traveling merchants from the nearby holds. The wind carried their loud calls to Thor’s ears as they peddled their wares to anyone who happened to be in the vicinity of their stall.

 

The coming spring made Thor’s heart light, for something inside of him always wilted when the sun shrank below the horizon at the start of Jol, and he had often wondered if his love for the bright but fleeting summer months was something he had inherited from his father. He’d never met the man, but the name Odin One-Eye was well-known in Jötuneheim, as was his reputation with women. Thor was certain he had many siblings across the realms, some of them of mixed blood like Thor himself, for the King of Asgard was known to roam the lands in disguise, charming and bedding milkmaids and noble ladies alike.

 

Bjarke let out a low grunt, his beady eyes fixed on the path that led up to the outcrop. Thor rose to his feet and waved his hand in welcome as a large panserbjørn carried Laufey’s personal thrall up the final steps.

 

“Greetings of the day, Fyrnir,” Thor smiled. “If you’re here for Master Byleistr’s new armor, you’ll be pleased to know that I finished it just this morning.”

 

Fyrnir nodded, squinting his eyes against the cold breeze that blew at these heights. “That is excellent news.” He tugged his furs up to his chin and glanced over his back. “Would you be so kind as to help the little master down?”

 

It was Fyrnir’s custom to arrive alone, but as Thor came closer he saw there was a small boy huddled against the heavy fur shawl draped over the thrall’s back. He peered at Thor through a fringe of coal black hair, his eyes reserved.

 

Thor had only met the Jarl’s eldest sons, but he’d heard there was also a third one, though rarely seen in public. Judging by the length of his horns, the boy was a few decades short of five hundred, but he was smaller than other frostlings of his age, and the softness of his face made him stand apart from his brothers.

 

It appeared the rumors about Laufey’s youngest being an íviðja were true.

 

“Hello there,” Thor said. “You must be–” He glanced at Fyrnir and the man mouthed the boy’s name to him, “Loki?”

 

The tight line of the boy’s mouth relaxed when he realized Thor knew his name. “Aye...”

 

“Well-met, Loki. I’m called Thor Ironhand. May I help you down from your mount?”

 

The painted whorls under Loki’s bottom lip shifted with his smile and he offered his small, fur-clad hand to Thor. “You may.”

 

Thor took the offered hand and wound his arm around Loki’s waist to lift him down from the leather saddle. The boy was covered in fine ermine pelts and Thor could tell he was well-fed, his plump cheeks the picture of health.

 

“I’m afraid his tutor has fallen ill with a case of the spring sniffles,” Fyrnir said as he climbed down after Loki. “His father has some business in Ivarheim and the little master was quite insistent about accompanying me on my errands this morning.”

 

Loki flashed the thrall a smug smile and Thor watched as he ran to the porch of his cabin, clambering over Bjarke’s furry back to admire the view. Bjarke snapped his jaws in a half-hearted warning, but Thor knew the old bear would never attack a child.

 

“We’re so high!” Loki cried out, his voice full of childish glee. The wind played with his black locks, whipping them against his cheeks as he pointed his finger at the city below. “Look, Fyrnir! You can see Father’s hall from up here, and even beyond the Wall!” He leaned against the railing to see the vast tundra that stretched out as far as the eye could see behind the high walls of their city.

 

“Careful,” Thor said, rushing over to place a protective hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s a long way down if you fall.”

 

He led his guests to the smithy and reached for the ring of keys on his belt to unlock the stone door that separated the armory from the workshop. “I think Master Byleistr will be pleased, for the seams of his new battle armor are reinforced with refined blood copper.” He lit two of the narwhal oil lamps that hung from the rocky ceiling, their bright light illuminating the racks and shelves that housed his lovingly crafted handiwork.

 

“No touching,” Fyrnir hissed as Loki pushed past him into the armory.

 

Loki gave a half-hearted nod, his small mouth agape as he took in the many blades and shields and glittering chain mails around him.

 

Fyrnir circled around the wooden dummy and ran his wrinkled fingers over the buckles and polished plates. “This is most impressive,” he nodded. “Yes, most impressive.”

 

Thor left Fyrnir to inspect the armor and joined Loki by the jewelry shelf where the boy had looped four silver rings around his fingers. They jingled like tiny bells as he waved his hands at Thor, crafted for someone twice his size. Thor’s skill as a silversmith was not as refined as his talent with blades and armor, but he liked to craft small baubles and trinkets in spare moments, selling them to traveling merchants and high-born lords and ladies who sometimes commissioned him for special designs.

 

Loki let the rings slip off his fingers and began to fiddle with a necklace made of moonstones.

 

“You like shiny things?” Thor grinned.

 

Loki gave an eager nod, the gleam of silver around him reflecting in the deep red of his eyes.

 

“Then allow me the honor of presenting you with a humble gift,” Thor said, low enough to avoid drawing Fyrnir’s attention.

 

Loki’s eyes lit up and he bounced on his heels as Thor reached for one of the bracelets on the upper shelf. It was made of pure starsilver and on each end was an intricately carved wolf’s head with red soul gems for eyes.

 

“I made this for the daughter of Lord Njörð who resides in his lofty hall in Nóatún, but I think you will wear it better than any Vanir noble.”

 

“I will!” Loki agreed, slipping the bracelet around his wrist. He raised his arm to marvel at the shine of his lovely gift, but his smile fell when the bracelet slipped all the way down to the crook of his elbow. “It’s too big...”

 

“Not to worry,” Thor smiled. He took Loki’s hand in his own and brushed the shawl he wore around his shoulders aside to reveal the bare length of his arm. “One day, you will be big enough to wear it around your wrist, but until then,” He slid the bracelet up along Loki’s arm where the soft layer of fat under his bicep held it in place, the cold shimmer of starsilver complementing the indigo of his skin. “You can wear it as an arm ring.”

 

Loki beamed. “Thank you.” He traced the wolves’ silvery snouts with his fingers. “Look, Fyrnir! Isn’t it divine?”

 

The thrall lines on Fyrnir’s forehead folded with his frown. “You better put that away, little master. I doubt your father will agree to buy you such an expensive thing.”

 

“No!” Loki cried out. He yanked his shawl tightly across his chest and hid his arm underneath it.

 

“It’s alright”, Thor said, patting Loki’s shoulder. “There is no need for payment, for it is a gift freely given.”

 

The look on Fyrnir’s face grew skeptical and Thor could tell the man struggled to understand his act of generosity. “Are you certain?”

 

“Aye,” Thor nodded. "Lady Freya has her fair share of pretty trinkets, she can afford to part with this one.”

 

Fyrnir made the payment Thor had been promised upon delivering the set of armor, and Thor wrapped it up in soft leathers and carried it out of the armory. He fastened the package on the bear’s furry back and gave Loki a boost to help him up to the saddle.

 

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, master forger. You have the Jarl’s thanks and continued patronage,” Fyrnir said, shaking Thor’s hand in a gesture of gratitude on Laufey’s behalf. He lowered his voice to keep his words from Loki's ears as he added, “If the talk of unrest on our borders holds any truth to it, the fires of your forge will burn bright in the coming years…”

 

Thor’s face grew grim, for he, too, had heard of the growing skirmishes in the south. To say that no conflict existed among their people would be a lie, for it was known across the land that northlings rarely saw eye to eye with clans from the southern territories, and jarls never gained power without violence. But it had been centuries since they had faced a threat from beyond their borders.

 

The last time they went to war happened long before Thor’s birth when old King Frodi marched his troops to Midgard. The humans of that land were like children in their eyes, their shields shattering under the might of Frodi's armies. The realm had been ready for the taking after a mere week of battle, but their victory was stolen from them by Borr and the golden gods of Asgard just as Frodi’s men were about to deliver the final blow. The Æsir had grown strong since the days of divide, and Frodi’s armies were driven out of Midgard, the conflict with the mortal men a mere skirmish compared to the war that followed. Asgard laid siege on Jötunheim for nearly five decades until finally, a truce was made when a young jötunn by the name of Thrym dethroned the power-hungry Frodi and made peace between their peoples.

 

The bards did not sing songs of their surrender, but the time of peace that followed was long and prosperous. Their borders were opened for merchants and travelers from distant lands, and many of the children born after the war were of mixed blood like Thor. His grandmother rarely spoke of her youth spent as a serving girl in Thrym’s hall, but Thor suspected his own father had been sired during the month-long revelries held in the honor of the newfound peace. Bestla had caught Borr’s eye during those weeks of celebrating, but no king would ever take a simple maid as their lifemate and the child born of their union was taken to Asgard, for children were rare among the race of gods, and sons especially were held in high value.

 

“The myrkálfar have grown greedy in their search for new territories,” Thor nodded.

 

“Greedy and foolish if they think they can steal our lands from us,” Fyrnir scoffed, and the contempt Thor heard in his voice was shared by thralls and warriors alike.

 

He saw Fyrnir and Loki to the winding stairs and returned to the smithy, swinging his hammer until supper time brought his day to a close. He hung his sooty apron on a hook on the wall and doused the fires in the furnace before heading into his cabin for a quick wash. He peered out through the frost-stained windows as he scrubbed at the black stains on his fingers and turned his eyes to his grandmother’s inn down in the Craftsmen’s District. Smoke rose from the chimney where it poked through the snow-covered peat on the roof, and the many small windows glowed like dots of amber in the dusk.

 

Thor donned his white caribou furs and left Bjarke to guard the smithy as he headed down the path his ancestors had cut into the side of the mountain centuries ago. Falling rocks and icicles tended to create small gaps and blockages in the ancient steps in the winter months, and it had been some time since he’d ventured down into the city.

 

The streets were crowded as people headed to alehouses or the warmth of their homes after a long day of labor. Night fell quickly in the north and young lamplighters scurried on the rooftops as they reached into the crystal lanterns that framed each street, bathing the ground below in a warm glow as they were lit.

 

Thor was greeted many times on his way to the Sleeping Narwhal, the name Ironhand well-known across Jötunheim, for few metal workers had the tools or the skill to work with rare materials such as linite and helstone. He had learned the craft from his great-grandfather and the weapons and armor made in the furnaces of White Horn Forge had brought their city fame for centuries. Some tales claimed that Surtr himself had forged his mighty Twilight Sword in the fires of White Horn, and warriors arrived from near and far for Utgård steel.

 

The tables around the fire pits in Bestla’s inn were already full of hungry patrons as Thor stepped in. People raised their heads from their tankards and gave a collective murmur of greetings as Thor made his way to his usual table under a mounted narwhal skull.

 

“Ah, Thor my dear,” Bestla smiled from the kitchen door, two full trays balanced in her hands. “I haven’t seen you since that blizzard last month.”

 

“Aye, the second landing was blocked again and the ice did not thaw until yesterday.” Thor shrugged his coat off his shoulders as the heat from the fire pits brought a flush of purple to his cheeks. “But it gave me a chance to complete my commission for the Jarl’s eldest son. I was paid quite handsomely.”

 

“As you should be,” Bestla said with no small amount of pride in her voice, handing the trays to one of the nearby serving girls. “Well, I hope you’re hungry. I’ve got an entire boar roasting in the back, and Fenja is about to open a fresh barrel of ale from Honeyhorn meadery.”

 

“That ale does sound mighty good, as does the boar,” Thor grinned, salivating at the mere mention of crisp, roasted pork after eating what scraps were left in his pantry for the past week. Bestla gave one of his horns an affectionate rub and disappeared into the kitchen, always insisting on serving Thor herself.

 

Many of his friends took their meals at Bestla’s establishment and Thor was soon joined by Skoll and her brother Keila. He spent the evening in their good company, swapping stories and drinking tankard after tankard of the best ale Jötunheim had to offer.

 

He decided to spend the night at the inn, for the mountain path was challenge enough when he was sober, and he climbed up to his room in the small attic. Settling under warm seal skin covers, he caught a glimpse of Bear Keep through the small snow-covered window by the bed. The Jarl’s hall stood on a small hill in the heart of Utgård, a handsome building of ash and cedar, its lofty roofs and carved pillars rising towards the dark canvas of the night sky. Thor thought of little Loki and the joy his gift had brought to the boy’s face, his own mouth curving into a smile as he drifted off to deep, ale-induced sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**_Jealousy_ **

 

Loki made a habit of accompanying Fyrnir every time the old thrall had business at Thor’s forge, and as the years went by, the boy began to appear on his own. Thor knew he was most likely sneaking out and skipping his lessons, but he never had the heart to send Loki home, for he suspected the boy was a little lonely. Being the Jarl’s son set Loki apart from most children of his age, and his dual nature was reason enough for his playmates of noble birth to shun him from their games. He’d grown an inch or two in the past few years, but he remained slight, still a full head shorter than most children of his age.

 

Thor had been a young man of eight hundred at the time of Loki’s birth, but it was easy to forget the centuries between them, for Loki's knowledge of Jötunheim and the worlds beyond their borders was vaster than most grown jötnar’s. He was well-versed in ancient lore and tales their people had passed on for generations, and Thor enjoyed listening to his stories as Loki watched him work. Sometimes his version of a familiar tale tended to get so tall that Thor knew Loki must have been telling outright lies, but such stories were always the most entertaining, and Thor did not mind the untruths that slipped from Loki’s lips.

 

Their games of tafl were a different story, for Loki was a terrible cheat and a sore loser. Thor was quick to discover that his pieces would often disappear or move on their own if he made the mistake of turning his back on Loki and the gameboard. On the rare occasion when Loki didn’t manage to cheat, Thor still allowed him to win, the smile he received from Loki reward enough.

 

Thor didn’t allow Loki to touch any of his tools, but he invited him to watch as he gave different metals and precious ores a new shape with his hammer and anvil.

 

Summer was still some moons away, but the sun had thawed the rivers and lakes around Utgård, and the shores of the northern sea would soon be open for their whalers. The coming fishing season kept Thor and his fellow blacksmiths busy, and the pile of harpoons and fish-traps at the back of his workshop grew each day.

 

“The harpoons have to be sharp, for a narwhal’s skin is slippery and thick,” he explained as he turned the red harpoon tip he was tapering on the anvil. There was no reply and when Thor glanced up from his tools, he noticed Loki was staring at him, the look on his face pensive.

 

“I’d wager you haven’t heard a single thing I’ve said to you,” he smirked. “And yet you gaze upon me so intently that I have to ask, is there something on my face?”

 

Loki dropped his eyes to his feet and Thor did not miss the flush of purple on his cheeks. “No… I was just thinking about your hair is all.”

 

Thor put his tongs down and wiped his sweaty brow with his forearm as he seated himself next to Loki.

 

“My hair?”

 

“Aye,” Loki nodded, reaching up to give Thor’s braid a tug where it rested over his shoulder. “It’s the color of lamp oil; and your eyes are not red, but blue like the waters that flow in the river Vimur. Why is that?”

 

Thor laughed before he could stop himself, for the maidens at the Sleeping Narwhal usually likened his bright locks to sunshine and yarns of gold, not something that came from a whale’s back fat. “You’re quite observant,” he said, rolling his knotted plait between his fingers. “There are some jötnar who have mixed blood in their veins. Part of them comes from another realm and the same is true for me.”

 

“Which realm?” Loki asked, reaching up to cup Thor’s cheeks as he examined the blue of his irises.

 

“Is the name Asgard familiar to you?”

 

Loki scratched at his nose and took a moment to think. “It is the home of the bright ones who call themselves gods. Our ancestors built the high wall around their stronghold. I’ve seen pictures of it in my books. Is that where your blood comes from?”

 

“Aye, part of my lineage is of that realm,” Thor said. “I never met the man who sired me, but my grandmother tells me he came to our land many years ago, bearing the form of our people.”

 

“He was a shape-shifter?”

 

Thor nodded and pointed to his waterskin, which lay among discarded spearheads. “Would you fetch that for me?” Loki scurried across the room, eager to please, and Thor took a draft of cool mead before continuing with his tale. “This was before your father became jarl and the rule of Bear Keep belonged to a man called Gilling. My grandmother tells me the stranger called himself Brúni, and though he wore our skin and shape, no disguise could fool Bestla. She recognized her son under the cunning disguise even as Gilling welcomed the wanderer into his home.”

 

Loki listened with rapt attention, but Thor was careful to keep some of the details to himself, for only Bestla knew the full truth of his heritage. He was nothing but a bastard, but even a bastard with royal blood could stoke the fires of envy should word of it reach Laufey’s ears. The man had won his position as jarl through sheer violence, for his family descended from common fur trappers and fishing tribes that lived in the deep north.

 

“The man who called himself Brúni enjoyed the jarl’s hospitality for many moons, but when he continued on his journey, a young maid in Gilling’s hall by the name of Fjörgyn was heavy with child.”

 

“Was she your mother?” Loki asked.

 

“Aye, but she could not keep me and I was taken to the temple, where the priests cared for me until my grandmother learned of my existence and took me in.”

 

“What happened to your mother?”

 

“I wish I knew,” Thor said, shaking his head, for even he did not know what fate befell poor Fjörgyn after his birth. He was still in swaddling clothes when Laufey seized power and most of Gilling’s thralls and servants were imprisoned and sent away as was custom. It was likely that his mother was among them.

 

“I never met my mother either, for she died on the night I was born,” Loki said, his voice subdued.

 

Thor had never heard the boy broach such a delicate subject before. He clasped Loki’s neck and stroked his thumb along the shell of his ear. “We were all saddened by the death of your mother,” he said, for the loss of Farbauti had been a sad day for all of Utgård.

 

“Did you know her?” Loki asked, his eyes a little misty in the lamplight as he peered up at Thor.

 

“I had the honor of meeting her once or twice,” Thor nodded. “One of the first commissions I was allowed to craft was a silver brooch for Farbauti’s nameday. I was a mere apprentice at the time and my great-grandfather thought such an important task was beyond my skills, but your mother must have seen the potential in my hands, for she insisted that the task be given to me.”

 

Loki straightened in his seat, his solemn mood forgotten. “I’ve seen the brooch in my father’s chambers! He keeps it in a lacquered box by the stone bust a dwarven artisan made in my mother’s likeness.” He gave a little sigh, his smile wistful. “I wish I could have seen her wear it.”

 

Loki watched Thor from the corner of his eye, his bottom lip caught between his sharp little teeth. “My father tells me there is special blood in my veins too,” he said after a beat. “He tells me I am an íviðja.”

 

“Do you know what it means?” Thor asked, his tone careful, for children like Loki were rare among their people, and they were not always treated with the kindness and respect they deserved.

 

“It means I shall never be as hardy as my brothers,” Loki said. “But I will be able to bend the ice to my will and master the art of seiðr. I’ve already begun my lessons with Grýla! I only wish my brothers wouldn’t make fun of me for it… They claim seiðr is for old crones and those who cannot fight with sword and shield.” His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of blue as he continued. “They say I am ergi because I will be able to…”

 

The boy drifted off, but Thor could guess what was left unsaid. “To be able to bear and sire children is a rare gift among our people,” he said, giving Loki’s pointed chin a gentle tap. “Your future mate will be lucky indeed.”

 

Loki preened at the compliment and leaned  into Thor’s touch, but they were both startled when Bjarke’s low roar echoed through the workshop.

 

“It appears we have a visitor.”

 

Thor ruffled Loki’s hair, headed toward the entrance, and saw there were two women on the porch of his cabin.

 

“Greetings, Fenja, and the same to you, Menja,” he said, recognizing the girls by their flaming red hair.

 

Both girls, identical in appearance, spun around, their long braids bouncing on their fur-clad breasts. “Oh, there you are! We should have known you were working.” Fenja pointed at the large leather sack on her sister’s back. “Your grandmother sent us up with some provisions. She says we’ll have one last blizzard tonight, claims she can feel it in her bones.”

 

Thor chuckled at that, taking the heavy pack from Menja’s shoulders. “Well, her bones are rarely mistaken.”

 

“Mmm, the last blizzard she predicted had us snowed in for a fortnight…” Fenja murmured, and Thor recognized the familiar glint in her eyes as she tilted her hips, the look mirrored in her sister’s gaze. It had been a while since they had come to his cabin on an errand from Bestla, but it was clear that they both expected the visit to end the way it always did: in a tumble between the furs.

 

There was an angry stomp of feet on the stairs as Loki rushed up to the porch and planted himself at Thor’s side. The seduction in the girls’ eyes switched to surprise at his sudden appearance. “Oh, I didn’t realize you had company...” They both grabbed the hem of their aprons and gave a little curtsey. “Well met, little master.”

 

Loki bristled at the greeting and straightened his back to pull himself to his full height, which had Thor coughing into his fist as he fought to keep his smile at bay, for Loki’s horns barely came up to his biceps.

 

“Well, we had better head down before Bestla tells us off for slacking.” The seductive glint in Fenja’s eyes returned and she reached up to give Thor’s braid a playful tuck.

 

“I hope you’ll visit us soon…” said Menja as she brushed her knuckles against Thor’s cheek on her way down the porch stairs.

 

“Aye, I will. Give Bestla my thanks. And be careful on the third landing, the ice is still quite thick there.”

 

Loki didn’t move from his spot at Thor’s side until both girls had disappeared into the stairway. Thor glanced down and gave the boy a gentle shove.  “You’re pouting…”

 

“Am not!” Loki narrowed his eyes as Thor twisted his own mouth into a sad bow to mimic the sullen expression on his face. “I don’t look like that!” Loki swung his arm to beat Thor’s chest with his fist, but Thor caught his wrist in his large hand, ignoring his protests as he dragged Loki into the cabin, no longer bothering to hide his laughter.

 

Loki’s mouth remained a sour line as he plopped himself into one of the gnarled chairs by the fireplace. He crossed his arms over his chest and began to swing his legs to and from in a furious pace, stewing in his sullen mood. Thor watched him from the corner of his eye as he dug into the pack the girls had brought for him, arranging the provisions into the shelves of his pantry.

 

The angry and possessive glare in Loki’s eyes was endearing, but Thor couldn’t help but wonder about the reason behind it. The boy was young, but Thor had no doubt that he had seen and heard things in his father’s hall; it was obvious he had guessed the intent behind Fenja and Menja’s suggestive smiles.

 

Thor poked his head out from the cool depths of his pantry. “Fenja and Menja are nice girls. We have known each other since we were children.”

 

“Oh?” Loki snorted, working a lock of hair around his finger in a furious spin. “Are they your _mate_ s then?”

 

Thor nearly dropped a jar of herring at the question, equally surprised by the acerbic tone it was delivered in.

 

It was true that he enjoyed sharing his bed with both Fenja and Menja, and many other maidens from time to time, but Bestla sometimes worried about his lonely existence on the mountainside because Thor had never entertained the thought of settling down with anyone.

 

He set the jar on the shelf and stepped out of the pantry to join Loki by the hearth. “The girls and I are friends, Loki. Just as you and I are friends.”

 

Somehow his choice of words seemed to upset Loki even more, and the boy beat his fists against the hand rests, refusing to meet Thor’s eyes. “You oaf!” he snarled. “You don’t understand _anything_!”

 

Thor threw his hands in the air, his expression baffled at the accusation. “What? What don’t I understand?” He shook his head, a frustrated burst of laughter slipping from his lips. “You sound like a jealous maid.”

 

That got the boy’s attention.

 

“ _What?_ ” Loki sputtered, his eyes flashing with indignation. “I’m not jealous! Why would I be jealous, you troll dung!”

 

Thor observed the deep flush that had begun to spread on Loki’s cheeks like spilled ink. His eyes grew playful as it dawned on him that Loki truly was jealous, for he could still remember his own boyhood years and the many crushes he’d developed on jötnar twice his age, skilled warriors and maidens with soft smiles and sparkling eyes.

 

He loomed over Loki’s smaller form, one hand resting against the back of the chair while the other hovered over the boy’s chest, searching for his most ticklish spot. “Troll dung, am I?” Thor grinned. “Oh you’ll pay for that…” He sank his fingers into Loki’s flank to tickle him, but he reared back when nimble fingers reached up in retaliation, wrapping around the braids on his beard. “Ow! Not the beard!”

 

“I’m _not_ jealous,” Loki insisted, his small fangs exposed as he continued to tug on Thor’s bristles.

 

“Alright, let go!” Thor laughed. He held his palms up in a show of surrender. “Peace, Loki, peace.”

 

Loki released his hold, his chest heaving with his panting breaths, and Thor took note of the smile tucking on the corners of his mouth. He wrapped his fingers around the small stub of Loki’s horn to give his head a gentle shake. “Come, I’ll make you some supper before I take you home.”

 

*******

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely feedback on the first chapter! Also, the title of the fic comes from Connie Francis' song 'I Will Wait For You' :)

**_Tides of War_ **

 

Loud roars of drunken laughter echoed up the many staircases that led to Loki’s bed chambers, a grim reminder of the fun he was missing as the feasting downstairs went on. He’d been sent to his room soon after sunset, forced to watch the arrival of the Jarl of Ivarheim from his window while his nursemaid brushed and oiled his hair, as if he didn’t have the hands to do it himself. The only time he ever got to set foot outside after sunset without one of his father’s thralls accompanying him was when he snuck out the window.

 

The whole household treated him like a child and he was nearly five centuries now! The only person to ever treat him as an equal was Thor, though there were times when even he refused to acknowledge the fact that Loki was nearly of age, pinching his cheeks and ruffling his hair as if he were still in his swaddling clothes.

 

There was another loud roar of laughter from the grand mead hall, followed by cheery singing, which generally meant the revelries had reached the point where a small gatecrasher would go unnoticed. Loki closed his book on ice runes and gave his elkhound a light shove with his foot to wake her up from her slumber.

 

“Come, Lauga, we shall make a trip to the kitchens.”

 

The dog raised her head and poked her tongue out as she yawned and stretched her furry legs, not at all enthusiastic to leave the warmth of the hearth, but she followed on Loki’s heel as he peered into the hallway outside of his room. Certain there were no servants nearby, he tiptoed to the staircase, careful to skip over the noisy floor board by the tapestry of their family tree, for the accursed thing had been his downfall many times in the past. He made his way down a flight of stairs and turned left at the door the thralls used to enter the mead hall. The coast to the kitchen appeared to be clear, but Loki’s heart still jumped to his throat when the smell of lamb roast and pig grease lured Lauga out into the open.

 

“Lauga, stay,” Loki hissed, running after her. “You greedy mutt, you’ll get us caught!” He managed to wrap his arms around the dog’s scruffy neck just as she was about to dash into the kitchen. “Wait here or you won’t get anything.”

 

The dog obeyed in spite of the tempting scents around them, and Loki peered into the kitchen through the open door. Only the cook was present and it looked like she was getting ready to carry out a bucket of vegetable parings and pork rinds. Loki’s mouth split into a wicked grin and he rushed inside the moment he heard the backdoor open, careful to keep his steps as soft as snowfall.

 

All the leftover food from the night’s feast was laid out on a long table in the middle of the room, scraps of savory meats and half-empty bowls of stew and gravy. Loki tossed Lauga a piece of mutton to keep the dog from making a ruckus, and she trotted out of the kitchen to eat her treat in peace. Loki dipped his finger into a pot of cream and licked it clean, his eyes zeroing in on the freshly baked cloudberry tarts cooling on large trays near the oven. He grabbed the long hem of his nightshirt and rushed across the kitchen to swipe some of the treats into the makeshift bag, hurrying out when he heard footsteps at the door.

 

He headed for a set of stairs at the end of the hallway that took him to a narrow loft above the mead hall. Used by the servants to open the small shutters on the roof to vent out the heat and smoke from the large fire pits down below, it ran the length of the hall near the ceiling, and Loki had learned many delicious secrets perched in the shadows.

 

He took a seat in his usual spot by the railing and sank his teeth into a soft tart, his gaze wandering across the room below. Laufey’s seat at the high table was empty, and Loki guessed his father had retired to his private meeting chambers with his guest of honor. The duty of playing host had fallen to his brothers; both Byleistr and Helblindi were still present at the high table as mead continued to flow from the large casks like a river of gold.

 

Most of the guests could barely stand up, and some of his father’s courtiers had fallen asleep on the long, fur-covered benches while others chased serving girls around the hall, some of them crawling on all fours like toddlers. Loki had to bite his knuckles to hold back his laughter when he saw Stendar Hammerfall profess his love to a pair of goats someone had let in through the side door.

 

The noise in the hall was so loud that it was difficult to make sense of most of the conversations, but bits and pieces of drunken boasting and mumbling drifted up through the music, and Loki perked up his ears when he caught Helblindi’s deep voice in the cacophony of sounds.

 

“It will take time to amass the troops. Father says we will not go to war before next harvest,” Helblindi slurred.

 

Loki frowned, pausing his chewing. What war was his brother speaking of? Was someone going to attack them?

 

Byleistr lowered his tankard so hard that most of its contents spilled onto his knuckles. “It is madness to wait! _Now_ is the time to strike, for those pointy-eared bastards are weak in sunlight. Summer is almost upon us and we will not get such an opportune moment for another year.”

 

Helblindi nodded, reaching over the table to clasp his brother’s shoulder. “This will be the greatest battle of our time and when the call to arms comes, we’ll march to war side by side, brother.”

 

Byleistr planted his own hand on Helblindi’s muscled neck and grunted in agreement. “Aye, and what glory we’ll bring to the House of Laufey with our victories.”

 

Both of them appeared to be on the verge of passing out, their heads nodding on top of their broad shoulders, and it was Byleistr who slid out of his chair first, his snores echoing from the floor soon after. Helblindi took one more drink from his horn before he followed his brother’s lead, his cheek resting against his empty plate as he passed out.

 

Loki was still puzzling over what he’d overheard when a sudden and painful twist on his ear made him drop his tart. He let out a startled yelp and the rest of the treats he’d hidden in his shirt rolled down as he was pulled up by his angry nursemaid.

 

“What in Ymir’s name are you still doing up, boy?” Ulfrún berated as she dragged Loki back to the stairs. “Don’t tell me you’ve been pilfering in the kitchen! Why, I ought to box your ears!” She gave the root of his horn a painful flick and chased him down the ladder. “You get back to your bed right now, young man! If I catch you sneaking around again I will inform your father of your mischief.”

 

“No, please, don’t tell Father!” Loki cried out, for his punishments were always twice as hard when they came from Laufey.

 

Ulfrún, too, seemed to know this, and the scowl on her face turned a tad softer. “You’d better hurry to your room then,” she said, watching as Loki scurried down the hallway, the skin around his horn still smarting when he climbed up to his room.

 

He dove under his furs, his heart hammering in his chest, but his brothers’ drunken ramblings kept him up long after the feasting downstairs had come to an end.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**_Two Hunters_ **

 

Loki’s tutor was asleep in his seat by the window, his sparsely toothed mouth hanging open as his chest rose and fell with his snores. Loki observed him over the thick tome he was meant to be reading, wondering just how deeply the old man slumbered. He coughed and cleared his throat three times, and when the snores did not cease, Loki lowered the book on the table and climbed out of his seat. He knew from past experience that the hinges on the door made a terrible wail, so he turned his eyes to the small hatch the dogs used to enter the room when the doors were closed. He dropped to his hands and knees, his small size allowing him to crawl through the hatch and climb out the first open window he found.

 

The light summer tunic he wore for study hour was plain enough not to draw any attention, and it was an easy feat to disappear into the crowd of nobles heading up to Temple District. Loki cut through the courtyard of Ymir’s Hall, where Halbard the Wise and other Elders stood in their usual spot under the eaves of the temple to preach about the old days to anyone willing to listen.

 

The climb up to White Horn was long on foot and it took Loki the better part of an hour to reach the top of the cliff. He leaned his hands to his knees as he caught his breath, but he forgot all about his exhaustion when he realized the fires in the smithy were doused even though it was not yet midday. Bjarke stood by his water pail near the cave entrance, his long tongue lapping loudly as Thor fastened a saddle around his round belly.

 

“Your forge is unlit.”

 

Thor glanced up, visibly surprised by Loki’s sudden appearance. “Loki? Where did you come from?”

 

Loki poked at the bundles tied to Bjarke’s back and peered into the saddle bags. “Are you going somewhere?”

 

“Aye, I promised to arrange some fresh meat for Bestla’s feast this solstice.”

 

“A hunt!” Loki exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Wonderful! Where shall we go?” He grabbed hold of Bjarke’s scruff to pull himself up, but Thor wrapped his arms around Loki’s waist and planted him back on his feet.

 

“ _I_ am going on a hunt,” he laughed, tapping his finger at Loki’s chest. “ _You_ are going back to your studies.”

 

“No, I’m not,” Loki insisted. He gave Thor his best pout and peered at him through his dark lashes. “ _Please_ , I promise I won’t get in the way.”

 

“Loki… You’re the Jarl’s son. You know I cannot take you out of the city without your father’s permission.”

 

“My father isn’t even home. He left early this morning with both of my brothers to some boring old clan meeting at Thiazi’s hall in Thrymheim. He shan’t be back until the end of the week.” Loki shifted his weight from foot to foot, his eyes big and innocent. “I’ll be good.”

 

Thor arched his brow, clearly aware that his strings were being pulled. “Fine. But you must promise to stay out of the way and do as I tell you. I would lose my head if something happened to you.”

 

“I promise,” Loki said sweetly.

 

He’d rarely been allowed to go past the city walls and he could hardly contain his excitement as Bjarke lumbered toward the massive stone gates. Most holds in Jötunheim had humble beginnings, sprouting up from small farmsteads and hunting camps wherever the game was bountiful and the land fertile. There were no major settlements in the north past Utgård, for the mountainous lands beyond the ancient stronghold were mostly uninhabitable. Small tribes of fur trappers and bear breeders lived in the wilds near Járnviðr, but Utgård was the beating heart of the north and the first hold in Jötunheim, built by the old bear yeller Belgermir when the realms were young.

 

When the guard houses came into view, Thor reached into the saddle bag to take out his rain cowl and handed it to Loki.

 

“Here, put this on and remember to keep quiet.”

 

Few people outside of Noble District knew what the Jarl’s youngest son looked like, but it was better to avoid any unwanted questions, so Loki hid his face under the boar hide cowl. The guards at the gate were on alert, but they appeared to know Thor’s face, and his reputation gave them no cause to doubt him as he explained his reason for heading out of the city. One of them rang a large bell to signal the men on the wall, and Loki watched with his mouth agape as the gears in the massive mechanism turned and slid into place, each stone door rumbling like a pair of angry storm giants as they were eased open.

 

The last time Laufey had allowed Loki to accompany him on his travels it had snowed so thickly that Loki hadn’t seen beyond his own nose. Now the skies were clear and the open tundra spread out before them like a patchwork of color, the sheer vastness of it taking Loki by surprise. He burrowed against Thor’s chest, suddenly frightened of floating away and disappearing into the wind that blew across the plains.

 

Thor must have sensed his fear, for he wrapped his arm around Loki’s waist, the weight of his hand comforting. “The world beyond the Wall can be intimidating.”

 

“I’m not afraid,” Loki said, bristling a little at the smirk he received from Thor.

 

The landscape was dominated by rolling hills and distant mountains, their razor sharp peaks white even in the summer. The Vimur slithered across the grassy terrain like a great serpent, splitting into small cascading waterfalls or tiny brooks in the fells. They followed one such brook for an hour or so until Loki’s eyes were drawn to a grove of runty birch trees in the distance.

 

“Many animals take shelter in that patch of woods, which makes it an excellent spot for some light hunting,” Thor said, giving Bjarke’s flanks a light kick to steer him in the right direction.

 

Loki leaned down to run his fingers through the greying fur between Bjarke’s ears as the bear carried them across the open plains, white and purple wildflowers crumbling under his heavy paws.

 

“Father says I'll have a bear of my own once I come of age.”

 

“Of course you will,” Thor nodded, for each noble and freejötunn was gifted their own panserbjørn when they came of age. Only thralls who had no possessions of their own did not share this privilege, though high-born servants like Fyrnir were allowed to ride their master’s bears. But even then, the bond between a jötunn and their bear was sacred, and sometimes the animal simply refused to carry anyone not bonded to them.

 

“Alright, I think this will be a good spot to stop,” Thor said when they had reached the edge of the small wood. “Shall I help you down?”

 

Loki flung his leg over the saddle, the soles of his boots soundless when they hit the soft moss beneath them. Thor arched his brow, but said nothing as he reached for the fastenings on Bjarke’s flanks to relieve him of the saddle and the load of provisions he’d been carrying. The bear shook himself like a big dog and headed towards a nearby brook to catch some fish.

 

Byleistr and Helblindi had never allowed Loki to accompany them on one of their hunting trips, insisting he was too small and inexperienced and as such would only get in their way. He bounced on his feet as Thor led him deeper into the sea of white trunks and evergreen fir trees, hanging onto his every word as Thor talked about the various steps of tracking their game.

 

He was such a large man, but his steps were soft on the mossy ground, the knotted length of his braid swinging from side to side as he hunched low to keep out of sight. The bow was too large for Loki to handle, but Thor allowed him to carry his quiver of arrows, and the small task was enough to make Loki beam, for his own family didn’t even trust him with a steak knife.

 

Southerlings often called the lands in the north barren and empty, but the patch of wood was full of life, small critters moving in the shrubbery and green foliage. Loki was so busy watching the play of two squirrels as they chased each other up the tree trunks that he didn't even notice the small herd of deer in front of them until Thor stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“There is our prey.”

 

Thor got down on one knee and reached for one of the iron-tipped arrows in the quiver on Loki’s back. He glanced at Loki over his shoulder, his face alight with the thrill of the hunt. “Keep quiet now.”

 

Loki worried his lip between his teeth as he watched Thor exhale a deep breath and set the arrow between his fingers, his own body tensing when he saw the muscles in Thor’s arm bulge as he pulled the string of his bow back. He followed the line of the arrow to a large buck that was grazing lichen nearby. The animal did not suspect its death lay only a moment away, and Thor’s arrow pierced the buck’s flank before it could even lift its muzzle. Loki flinched at the loud wail that escaped from the animal’s throat, its lifeless body falling down on the evergreen shrubs. The herd around it raised their heads, their eyes alert and scattering away the moment they saw the predator between the tree trunks.

 

Loki wound his arms around Thor’s neck and plastered himself against his back.

 

“That was amazing! You felled it with a single shot!”

 

“Aye,” Thor grinned. "Your aim has to be true or else the animal will suffer.”

 

Loki wrapped his legs around Thor’s waist and rode on his back as he went to claim his kill. The gaze in the animal’s eyes was glazed and a little startled, but unlike the many predators that preyed on its kind, Thor had given the buck a quick and clean death.

 

"What now?" Loki asked, peering at the animal over Thor’s shoulder.

 

“Now I show you the final step of the hunt.” Thor's smile turned wry as he yanked the arrow from the animal's blood-stained flank. “I hope you're not squeamish...”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The journey back to Utgård took twice as long, for the dead deer was so heavy that Bjarke could only carry Loki on his back and Thor was forced to travel on his own two feet. Once they were back inside the city, Thor took Loki to the skinning shed behind Bestla’s inn. His grandmother’s sled dogs went wild in their pen at the smell of the fresh kill, barking and jumping against the iron grid of their cage. He hauled the carcass off of Bjarke's back and gave the bear a chunk of dried seal meat for his efforts.

 

Their people had lived off the land for centuries, and most children were used to the sight of blood and what they all deemed as necessary death. Loki may have lived a more sheltered life than most, but he  was anything but squeamish, following Thor into the shed and watching as he began the process of separating the animal from its hide. He hovered behind Thor’s back, his eyes curious as he pointed at various organs with an endless litany of ‘what is that? What is that?’ spilling from his lips.

 

When the bloody deed was done, Thor stretched the buck’s hide in a tanning rack and gave some instructions to the two kitchen maids that came in to prepare the meat for roasting. He went to the small well at the back of the shed and drew a bucket of icy water from its depths to scrub his hands clean of the dried blood.

 

He saw Loki slip out while he cleaned himself and he found the boy at the kitchen door, his nose twitching as he breathed in the delicious scents. Loki glanced over his shoulder, his eyes imploring, and if the way he licked his lips wasn’t enough to express his hunger, the loud gurgle from his belly certainly made its needs known.

 

“Come along then,” Thor chuckled, ushering Loki inside.

 

He led the boy to his usual table and waved at Bestla, who stood behind the long counter at the back, two large tankards in her hands. Bestla called for Fenja and Menja to take her place at the taps and made her way across the crowded room.

 

“It appears we have a guest,” Bestla noted. She settled her hands on her broad hips, eyeing Loki from head to toe. “You look a bit young for the alehouse, lad.”

 

“I think we can make an exception, for it was Loki who helped me fell that buck you’ll be roasting on the solstice.”

 

“Loki?” Bestla repeated, and Thor saw the brief flash of surprise on her face as she realized Thor had brought the Jarl’s youngest son into her establishment.

 

“Well, I suppose even the smallest hunter deserves a good meal,” Bestla nodded, her smile amiable. “But I’ll serve nothing stronger than goat’s milk for you, little master.”

 

She disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared a moment later with their drinks. Thor took a long pull from his tankard of bitter ale while Loki quenched his thirst with cool, creamy milk. He turned his eyes to the bar where Fenja and her sister worked the ale taps, their mere presence behind the counter enough to draw in a crowd of eager customers. Thor rolled his eyes as they moved their slender hands on the taps in a decidedly lewd manner, their eyes finding his across the room.

 

A sudden dull pain in his shin drew his attention back to Loki. “Did you just _kick me?_ ”

 

Loki’s brows were pinched into a scowl, but the sullen line of his mouth was framed with a thick, white mustache which made his pout considerably less effective. Thor forgot the pain in his leg and let out a fond laugh. “Are you certain you’re not jealous?” he teased, reaching across the table to clean Loki’s face with the pad of his finger.

 

“And what if I am?”

 

Thor’s breath caught in his throat when Loki sealed his soft lips around his finger, the wet tip of his tongue like a brand as he licked it clean.

 

Thor pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned.  Loki’s smile was cheeky and full of his usual mischief, but something in his eyes gave Thor pause.

 

“Loki…” The corners of Thor’s mouth twitched as he struggled to hide his surprise.

 

He glanced around, but it didn’t appear anyone was paying attention to them, and the look in Loki’s eyes was gone before Thor could examine it more closely.

 

Loki began to hum along the tune the resident bard plucked from her lute by the fireplace, his face the picture of innocence. Thor cleared his throat and took another deep drink from his tankard. They shared no blood and Loki was not the child he’d been when they first met, but he was still more than a decade from proper adulthood, and Thor felt something twist uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach as he watched Loki lick the remaining spot of milk from his lips. _And why in Ymir’s name could he not look away?_

 

Thor was saved from his thoughts when Bestla reappeared with two plates full of buttery potatoes, seal liver rolls and berry jam. Loki began to devour his meal, wolfing down everything within his reach. When he was done, he turned his eyes on Thor’s plate.

 

Thor snorted into his tankard and pushed the scraps of his dinner across the table. “I’ve seen full-grown bears eat less than you…”

 

Ylva continued to play her lute by the fire, her voice carrying over the steady chatter of patrons. She sang of valor and battles of yore as was her custom, and Thor took note of the way Loki had begun to fidget in his seat, his eyes flicking to the bard between each verse.

 

He put his tankard down and leaned his elbows against the table. “Is there something on your mind, Loki?”

 

Loki hesitated, but whatever question he wanted to ask burned too much to hold back, and the next thing he knew, Thor was treated to a long and sprawling tale of how Loki had slipped out of his room to spy on his father’s feasting, the words spilling out of him like a confession from a scolded child.

 

“Before my nursemaid caught me, I overheard my brothers conversing at the high table. They said we are going to war...”

 

It saddened Thor to learn that Loki had managed to catch wind of such a dark topic, but he did not wish to lie to the boy, for it was only a matter of time before the threat on their borders was known to all.

 

“Aye, there will likely be war soon.”

 

Loki’s eyes grew wide at Thor’s blatant admission. He gripped the edge of the table, his dark nails digging into the well-worn wood. “Who will we battle? Are they coming here?”

 

Thor reached over and laid a comforting hand on Loki’s shoulder. “No, Loki, they are not coming here. Utgård is safe, for the battle rages on the southern borders where the myrkálfar attempt to claim our lands for their own. The King on the Blue Mountain will call all men to battle soon and we shall defend what is ours with all our might.”

 

Loki’s dark lashes fanned against his cheeks as he parsed through the meaning behind Thor’s words. “Wait… Does that mean-” He reached over the table to grab hold of Thor’s wrist, his eyes wild in the amber lamplight. “Does that mean _you_ will go to war too?”

 

Thor took Loki’s hand in his own, his face solemn. “Thrym’s armies will need my steel. My hammer and anvil must go wherever the battle rages the hardest.”

 

The bard’s fingers paused on her lute when Loki jumped up from his chair, the legs scraping against the wooden floor planks. Loki circled around the table and pushed his small body between Thor’s parted thighs. “No.” The boy’s chin wobbled as he tugged on the collar of Thor’s tunic, his brow pinched in a stubborn scowl. “You can’t go.”

 

“Loki-”

 

“ _I forbid it_.”

 

Thor pried Loki’s fingers open and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I wish your word held such power, little Loki, but I must do my duty to my King.”

 

 

* * *

 

  

 

News of the war reached the northern holds well before harvest moon, but organizing an army as large as Thrym’s took time, and the official call to arms did not come until the land was touched by the first frost of winter. Many of their warriors had left for the southern borders well before snowfall, and now those who had lingered behind were set to follow. Bear Keep had bid farewell to Helblindi and Byleistr the day the heralds brought the official muster from the King, both of them eager to raise their blades against the enemy. The Jarl and many sons and daughters of Utgård would depart at sunrise to join their ranks in the south, and only the elderly and those unfit to do battle would stay behind.

 

It was not yet dawn as Loki made his way up the long and winding road to White Horn. The city was wide awake despite the lateness of the hour, Market Square and Temple District serving as a gathering place for the departing warriors. Loki’s lungs burned with exhaustion, but he didn’t pause to catch his breath on each landing as was his custom, for he did not want to miss Thor’s departure.

 

Thor sat on the snow-clad steps of his porch and raised his hand in greeting when Loki finally reached the top of the stairs. Bjarke stood at his side, his polished panser gleaming in the play of green lights in the sky.

 

“I had a feeling you’d come,” Thor smiled. He wiped the steps clean of snow and gestured for Loki to take a seat.

 

The night air around them was well below freezing, and Loki tightened his furs around himself, huddling against Thor’s side. “The whole city is awake.”

 

“Few can sleep on the eve of battle,” Thor said, his eyes on the mustering masses down below. “How’s the mood in the Jarl’s hall?”

 

“They’ve been singing songs of bloodshed through the night, and Father has donned his old armour since yesterday. He’s eager to join the battle.”

 

“That sentiment is shared by many,” Thor nodded, but the enthusiasm and bloodlust Loki had witnessed in the city below was absent in his voice.

 

The plates of his armor clanked as he lowered his hand on Loki’s shoulder. It was made of pure ever-iron from the mines in the east, and the sleek moonstone coat gave it a beautiful sheen. Even the tips of his black horns were covered with barbed iron sheaths. Loki had never seen a more fearsome sight, but his belly continued to churn with worry. He reached up to play with the end of Thor’s long braid where it rested on his pauldron, the familiar habit calming his nerves.

 

“How long does a war last?”

 

Thor shook his head, his face grim. “I cannot say, for there has been no war in my time.”

 

“Will you be back by springtime?” Loki did not even want to consider it might be longer than that.

 

The tattooed lines between Thor’s brows drew together in a troubled frown, but his hand on Loki’s shoulder remained comforting. “We are a hardy people, Loki. I’m certain the war will be won swiftly.”

 

The boastful tunes the men sang in the Market Square carried up in the winds, but Thor sat quietly at Loki’s side. He wrapped his metal-clad arm around his waist to pull him closer, and together they watched as dawn finally broke in the horizon, the red glow of the sun marking the beginning of their war against the myrkálfar.

 

Loki startled at the deep sound of the ancient battle horn as it was blown from a high tower on the Wall, calling all men to the gates. Thor’s armor clanked as he began to stand up, but Loki grabbed hold of his wrist guard, shaking his head.

 

“No…”

 

Thor pried Loki’s fingers open, his mouth a tight line. “It is time for me to go, Loki.”

 

Loki’s lip trembled and he blinked furiously against the tears that were suddenly threatening to spill down his cheeks. Bjarke trudged over to them, his steps slow under the heavy load tied to his back, and Loki watched as Thor hoisted himself onto the fur-padded saddle. A sudden panic seized his heart and he bounced up from the steps.

 

“Wait!” He grabbed hold of Thor’s knee, and he could barely get his words out through the terrible ache in his throat. “I- I wish to give you something.” Loki glanced around, wondering what he could possibly gift to a man who was about to ride for war. He had nothing of use on him, and he finally reached up for one of the brass rings he wore around his horns.

 

“Loki…” The ring was too small for the girth of Thor’s horns and Loki watched as he removed his gauntlet to slip it on his finger.

 

“Perhaps it will bring you luck,” Loki said with a forlorn smile.

 

Thor reached down to graze his knuckles against Loki’s cheek, the metal of his armor robbing his touch of its usual warmth. “Thank you.”

 

Loki shuffled from feet to feet and gave the snow under his boots a shallow kick. “It’ll be awfully dull without you,” he sighed. “Promise me you’ll come back soon.”

 

“I give you my word.” Thor leaned down to clasp his hand around Loki’s neck and planted a small kiss between his horns. “Fare you well, Loki.”

 

Loki followed him to the edge of the outcrop and watched as Thor and Bjarke began to descend down into the city, where long ranks of warriors marched toward the gates. Despondent in his new loneliness, he blinked his eyes against the biting wind, the tears that had gathered in them finally wetting his cheeks with warm, salty trails.

 

*******


	3. Chapter 3

**_War_ **

 

 

Life in Utgård went on in spite of the battles raging in the south. The sense of danger was a distant thing, for only complete surrender to their enemy would bring the war up north, but the old stronghold wasn’t left defenseless, and guards still patrolled on the Wall day and night. The charge of ruling fell on Halbard and the Elders, and the Jarl’s hall was quiet for the first time in centuries. No toasts were made in the grand mead hall, and Laufey’s seat at the high table gathered dust in his absence.

 

“Why can’t I rule in Father’s stead?” Loki asked Ulfrún one evening as his nursemaid turned down the fur-trimmed covers on his bed. “Why can’t I sit in his high chair and govern our people the way he does?”

 

“Oh child...” Ulfrún shook her head, her tone amused. She held the covers up and waited for Loki to climb into bed. “You shouldn’t trouble your head with such questions.”

 

“Is it because I’m not yet of age?” Loki continued, settling down on the wool-filled mattress.

 

“Aye, that is part of it,” Ulfrún nodded. She tucked Loki in and reached down to brush her knuckles over his cheek, her eyes fond. “Not all of us were made for greatness, little Loki, but we all have our role to play, no matter how small or insignificant it may be.”

 

Loki wrinkled his nose, Ulfrún’s words rousing something bitter in his heart. Just because he was small in size didn’t mean his deeds should be equally small! He turned to face the wall and ignored Ulfrún’s wish for sweet dreams, scowling at the darkness until he drifted into restless sleep.

 

Loki spent most of his mornings with his tutor and followed Fyrnir around the city in the afternoon as the old thrall ran his errands. He climbed up to White Horn whenever the weather permitted him passage and scanned the tundra beyond the city for any returning warriors, but the only sign of life were herds of reindeer and the occasional wild bear plodding through the white planes.

 

The ravens delivered their first updates from the south soon after midwinter. Loki was eager to find out if the war was nearing its end, but Fyrnir kept his learnings to himself and Ulfrún was equally tight-lipped. He spent the day hiding in all his usual nooks and crannies, but eavesdropping on the servants proved to be fruitless, for their gossip did not go beyond mundane talk of chores or the state of the pantry.

 

Refusing to be kept in the dark, Loki finally decided to try his luck elsewhere. He bid goodnight to Ulfrún soon after supper, but climbed out of bed the moment his nursemaid’s steps on the stairs grew distant. He’d fashioned himself a ladder made of rope and used it to descend to the small balcony below his window. The rest of the climb he could manage without aid, and he was on his way to Craftsmen’s District before anyone could come and find out what the strange clatter on the roof tiles might be.

 

The streets in the lower districts were quiet, but no war could quell a jötunn’s thirst for a tankard of good ale and it appeared Bestla’s inn still drew a crowd. Most of the patrons walking through the door were work-weary women, and Loki managed to slip inside with a group of tanners. He kept his cowl on as he moved across the dimly lit hall, seating himself at Thor’s table under the large narwhal skull. None of the women in the surrounding tables paid any attention to him, but Bestla paused behind the counter the moment she laid her eyes on Loki.

 

“Do they not serve milk at the Jarl’s hall?” the old woman asked, with a hint of amusement in her voice as she sat down in the seat across from Loki.

 

Loki flashed Bestla a cheeky grin. “I’m afraid the milk at Bear Keep does not come with a serving of news on the side.”

 

Bestla crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “And what news might the young master be after?”

 

Loki threw his cowl down and leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes pleading. “News of the war, of my father and my brothers - news of _Thor_. I know the ravens brought messages this morning, but no one tells me anything.”

 

Bestla gave him an assessing look, but her eyes softened after a beat. “What is it that you wish to know?”

 

Loki blinked, surprised to finally find someone willing to talk to him. He scratched at his nose as he thought of all the questions he’d thrown at Ulfrún and Fyrnir that morning, but there really was only one thing he wished to know. “Will the war end soon? It’s only a few more moons until the snow begins to thaw. Surely the battles will be done by then?”

 

Bestla enclosed Loki’s hands between her warm palms. “Oh, child.” She heaved a heavy sigh. “I fear the snow will fall and thaw many more times before we see an end to this war.”

 

Loki’s heart sank at the news and it must have shown on his face, for Bestla reached up to cup his cheek, a gesture of comfort Loki had not felt since Thor’s departure. “There’s no need to worry, Loki,” she said. “The ravens tell us the Jarl and his sons are whole and hale.”

 

Loki’s mood grew a little lighter at the news, and he touched his fingers to the silver bracelet he now wore around his forearm. “And what of Thor?”

 

“Don’t you worry about our Thor,” Bestla smiled. “His steel will give our armies the advantage we need to triumph over our enemy.” She ruffled Loki’s dark locks and gave the root of his horn a gentle rub. “Now, hurry along home before you are missed.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The snow thawed, but the battles in the south raged on, just as Bestla had predicted. With spring came mating season, but the children born in the following winter were few, for most of the men were away and those who shared Loki’s dual nature were not many in Utgård. Loki barely noticed the changes in his own body until there came a day when Ulfrún put away his box of talcum and told him to wash away the paint all young jötnar used to decorate their skin.

 

“It’s time you got your first real pigments,” his nursemaid announced.

 

Loki looked up from the washing vat and let out an excited squeal, his face still covered in smudged, wet paint. He’d been waiting for this day since he first laid his eyes on the many tattoos that adorned Thor’s muscled arms and scruffy cheeks. He dried his face and rushed down to the servants’ quarters, where Fyrnir was barely out of his bed.

 

“Hurry up, you old goat! I’m to receive my first tattoos today!”

 

“Aye, but not before you’ve broken your fast,” Ulfrún called from the door, dragging Loki into the kitchen for a bowl of porridge.

 

Loki shoveled his oatmeal into his mouth as fast as he could, and Lauga helped by licking the bowl clean until it was empty enough to satisfy Ulfrún’s scrutinizing eyes.

 

The day was young and the sun was still hiding somewhere behind the mountains when Fyrnir took him to see old Valka in the Craftsmen’s District.

 

“Here for you first pigments, eh?” the inker asked. Her face was withered with age, her skin a map of deep grooves, her eyes small and sunken in their sockets. She narrowed them as she regarded Loki from her seat at the center of the hut. “You look a bit young to be getting real ink, boy. You sure you’re old enough?”

 

Loki dropped his eyes to his shoes, feeling the burn of embarrassment heat up his cheeks. “I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t, now would I?”

 

Valka poked at the glowing embers in the small fire pit in front of her until they spat out a burst of fresh flames and gave Loki a closer look in the firelight. “Ah, I see…” Understanding dawned on her withered face. “You’ll have to forgive me. It’s been a while since I’ve had one of your kind in my hut. You’re the Jarl’s bairn, aren’t you?”

 

“Aye, but I’m no child, I’m nearly five centuries…”

 

She ignored Loki’s correction and sat him in a large fur-padded chair before disappearing behind a shabby curtain. Loki looked around, his gaze wandering around the hut. Every surface was cluttered with books and strange-looking tools, and dried bouquets of herbs and plants hung from long wooden beams. The air was stuffy and warm from the fire and smelled of old animal pelts and some strange plant Loki could not identify.

 

Valka reappeared with a cup of steaming herbal concoction and placed it on a small table at Loki’s side.

 

“You drink that while I prepare the inks.”

 

Loki sniffed at the murky drink and wrinkled his nose. “You can’t expect me to drink that! The smell alone is repulsive. Like an old pig hide mixed with my brothers’ sparring tunics…”

 

“Never mind what it smells like,” Valka huffed. “It will dull the sting of my needles, so I advise you to drink it.” Loki watched as she unrolled a bundle of fur and revealed a collection of sharp needles, some of them so thick that Loki hoped they were meant for something else entirely. “Unless you think you can handle the pain…” Valka said wryly, her sparsely toothed mouth splitting into a grin as she began to cleanse one of the needles in the flames.

 

Loki squeezed his eyes shut and brought the cup to his lips, emptying it down to the last foul-tasting drop.

 

“A wise decision,” Valka nodded. “Your brothers did not heed my advice and wept like babes when I gave them their first markings.”

 

Both Helblindi and Byleistr were covered in large, swirling tattoos all the way up to their half-shaved heads, and Loki chuckled at the thought of his burly brothers weeping in this very chair as he burrowed deeper into the fur padding. The drink went straight to his head and his tongue grew thick in his mouth. There was also a strange numbness on his cheeks and his head began to loll on his shoulders as he watched Valka prepare her inks.

 

Each jötunn wore the mark of their house and status on their brow, but like his brothers, many chose to use their body as a canvas for different designs. Excessive markings were more common among warriors than noble lords and ladies, and thralls rarely bore more than the simple mark of servitude on their brow.

 

Loki had only ever seen the ink on Thor’s face and arms, but he had studied the designs closely over the years and he pulled out a piece of parchment from his wolf skin bag and handed it to Valka. She eyed the swirling lines Loki had sketched from memory and glanced at him from under her fringe of graying hair. “For your cheeks?” she asked.

 

“Aye…”

 

“It is more common for married mates to share each other’s markings…” Valka said, her smile sly, and Loki could tell she had recognized the design.

 

He did not need to have feeling on his face to know that he was blushing. “I want that design,” he insisted, his mouth a petulant line as he attempted to exude some of his father’s authority.

 

“Alright, alright, little master,” Valka cackled.

 

Small beams of sunlight filtered through the shuttered windows, but the interior of the hut was dim and Valka set a thin metal band around her forehead. She touched the small crystal attached to it with her wrinkled fingers and the gem began to glow with bright seiðr-made light. Such mundane use of magic was common and no one raised a disapproving brow as long as it was used to aid in small everyday tasks. Anything bigger, such as shaping large ice structures or tapping into the flow of energy in the core of the realm, was supervised by the priests from Ymir’s Hall, the use of such seiðr requiring centuries of practice.

 

Loki’s own skills were still limited to apprentice level elemental spells and learning the power behind common runes, but Thor’s absence left him ample time to study, and Grýla had been most pleased with the progress he’d made in the last two winters. It would be centuries before he’d be able to join the ranks of Utgård’s most skilled seiðworkers, but Loki was determined to excel in the field of magic, for his kind wasn’t allowed as many opportunities as those with twice the brawn, not in Utgård anyway.

 

Valka took a seat next to Loki and wiped his face with a damp cloth. The cup of white ink she’d prepared was placed on a small table next to Loki’s head, along with three different needles.

 

Loki could not prevent the nervous shudder as Valka took one of them in her cerulean hand.

 

“This won’t hurt a bit, dear,” the old inker said, looming over Loki’s tensed-up body, “but you can close your eyes if it helps.”

 

Loki took Valka’s advice and kept his eyes closed, but whatever concoction he had drunk truly did work, for he barely felt the needle’s prick as Valka went to work. Tattoos of family and status were often intricate in their design, but Valka had been inking the folks in Utgård for centuries and it appeared she could trace the mark of Laufey’s house from memory. She finished it with three white dots below Loki’s hairline to indicate that he was the jarl’s third son, and the dots that framed his brows marked him as nobility.

 

The inking took several hours and Loki dozed off in the soft furs, his face completely numb. When he woke up, Valka was seated by the fire pit, her cheek full of tobacco as she cleaned her instruments.

 

“All done, little master,” she said with a kind smile when she noticed Loki was awake.

 

Loki’s hands flew up to his face and he hissed as he realized the numbing effects from the potion were beginning to wear off. His face felt warm to the touch, the skin under his fingers tender.

 

“Don’t you go poking at them now,” Valka warned sternly, “you don’t want your cheeks to get infected with inkrot.”

 

There was a large looking-glass near the entrance to Valka’s hut and Loki pushed himself up from the chair, eager to see his new markings. He recoiled at his reflection, for his cheeks were puffy and a deep shade of purple from the hours of needling.

 

“I look like a lemming!”

 

“That you do,” Valka laughed. She spat a clump of tobacco into a small clay jar and wiped at her chin. “Don’t you worry now, the swelling will settle soon enough and you will look as lovely as a huldra in the moonlight.”

 

Loki bristled at the comparison, but once the initial shock wore off, he saw the white ink Valka had etched to his skin was indeed much lovelier than the crude talcum paint of his childhood. He hovered his fingers over the patterns on his cheeks and wondered what Thor might say, were he here to see them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

His first ink was followed by something far more unpleasant.

 

“I don’t want to bind my horns,” Loki complained when Ulfrún poked at his scalp after bath time one early summer evening.

 

“Nonsense,” Ulfrún scoffed. “No son of the Jarl is going to have crooked horns like some commoner.”

 

She wound her fat fingers around Loki’s right horn to measure its girth before counting each groove on the rippled surface. Loki swatted her hand away, but he could tell there was no changing her mind, and she called for one of the maids in the hallway to arrange him a visit with the most prestigious horn binder in Utgård.

 

Few freejötnar bothered to bind their horns, for it was a painful process, but all noble children were made to wear a binder to keep the growth of their horns symmetrical and prevent them from veering to the side. Hallmar Longhorn arrived the very next day with a collection of tools and binders, his own horns oiled and adorned with golden hoops from root to tip. He inspected Loki’s horns with a giant magnifying crystal and took his measurements with small metal tools while a young apprentice wrote it all down on a piece of parchment. Once he was done, he presented Loki with three different binders.

 

“The design that curves the horn against your temple is popular with the ladies, but I must warn you, it’s a long and rather painful process.”

 

Loki had no desire to suffer through endless headaches or a sore scalp and itchy horns, so he chose the binder that simply kept them from growing in different directions. The wires were kept painfully tight, and he had to visit the binder every six months to allow the frame around his horns to be adjusted as they continued to grow. The children from common families pointed and giggled at him whenever Loki accompanied Fyrnir on his errands to the lower districts, and for the first time, Loki was glad Thor was not here to witness the embarrassing contraption on his head.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**_War II_ **

 

The myrkalfár were unlike any foe their people had faced on the battlefield. The fires in Thor’s forge were rarely doused, the pile of broken shields and weapons growing by the day. He was not a trained warrior, but their king had called each able-bodied man and woman to arms, and when he wasn’t repairing battered armor and broken blades, Thor’s hand was wrapped around the shaft of his massive battle axe.

 

Far from their peace-loving cousins in Álfheim, the myrkalfár were creatures of eternal night, birthed in the deep bowels of the earth when the realms were young. It was their love of dark places that had drawn them to Jötunheim, for the winters in their land were long and void of light. The armor they wore on their slender bodies was made of the hardest metal Thor had ever seen, swords and axes bouncing off the sleek surface as if they were made of mere clay. Even worse were their weapons; blades, knives and arrows laced with dark seiðr that could rot an entire limb in mere hours if the wound was deep enough.

 

It took Thrym and his generals almost two years to learn how their enemy worked, for the myrkalfár had strange tactics no jötunn had ever seen in the skirmishes between their own people. Their warriors moved in small groups and relied on the element of surprise in favor of brute force, digging deep into the ground for devastating ambushes.

 

Thor had lost three of his fingers in one such ambush when a small band of elven warriors had managed to burrow directly under their encampment. He’d been at his forge when the attack had come, and he likely would have lost more than his fingers if Bjarke hadn’t put himself in harm’s way to save his master’s life. A panserbjørn’s armor was of sturdy make, but the elven guerillas had known where to strike, and Bjarke’s heroic deed had cost him one of his own paws. Thor had seen the agony the dark seiðr brought to its victims and he did not hesitate as he cauterized their wounds in the fires of his forge, stopping the poison from spreading. Once their injuries were healed, Thor fashioned his companion a new paw from sturdy metal and a harness of starsilver for his own severed fingers.

 

The seasons around them continued to change, but their enemy showed no sign of surrender, and the beauty of the southern lands was rendered into smoking ruins. Lush woods were cut down to build sturdy forts, and towns and hamlets Thor remembered visiting in a time of peace were abandoned when word of the approaching battles reached people’s ears. Many of the children were sent across the border to Vanaheim, and those who stayed behind took refuge at the nearby temples and places of worship. Some of the elderly folk were more stubborn and refused to leave their homes, doing their best to feed Thor and his fellow warriors when the troops passed through their villages. The offerings were often meager, and Thor didn’t think he’d ever get used to sleeping under someone else’s roof, in a strange bed where the pillow still bore an indent from a stranger’s head.

 

There were years when their armies barely managed to hold the lines, for the myrkalfár had learned to harness a strange source of energy that turned their skin to stone and gifted them the strength of ten full-grown jötnar. Some of the ambushes from such foes took down entire platoons, but surrender to their enemy meant the destruction would spread further up north, and each warrior was willing to give their life to keep their homes safe.

 

Thor was seated on his bunk in the barracks, but sleep evaded him even as his fellow men from Utgård slumbered in the surrounding beds. Summers were not as bright in the south as they were back home, but the long hours of daylight still drove the elves deep underground for weeks on end, allowing Thrym and his generals to draw new battle plans. The evening sun hung low in the sky, painting the fields around them with soft golden hues, and only a few guards patrolled outside of their tents. A soft wind rustled the leaves in the aspens that grew around the encampment, and the quiet warble of a blackbird somewhere in the trees made it easy to forget this calm was but a brief respite, one that every warrior knew to embrace.

 

Most were asleep, but those unable to sleep like Thor sat at the large table at the back of the hut, enjoying a game of dice or a tankard of watered ale. Thor had removed his prosthetic fingers to massage the stumps, for they tended to ache in the evenings if he had spent the entire day at the smithy. The elven blade had not cut beyond the first two knuckles, leaving him the use of his hand as long as he wore the harness. Only his little finger was spared, the ring he’d received from Loki stopping the blade from cutting through the flesh. Thor pressed a soft kiss to the brass band, and his thoughts turned home as they often did on nights like these.

 

He took out a scroll of parchment and lit the lamp by his bed, reaching for the pot of ink he kept stored in his foot locker. He’d written countless letters home, for there was little else to do in moments of leisure, but he’d only been allowed to send a few, for their ravens were busy delivering official reports between commanders and platoon leaders. Still, the act of writing gave him comfort and allowed him to turn his thoughts away from the battlefield.

 

The letters he wrote to Bestla were full of complaints about the food they were fed, followed by long and detailed odes to his grandmother’s cooking. He reminded her not to fall asleep with her pipe in her mouth when she dozed by the fireplace after closing time, and to make sure her kitchen-boy fed her sled dogs the good stuff, not some scraps that were more bone than meat.

 

In his letters to Loki he often wrote of the things he imagined they would do once the war was over and Thor returned home, how he would teach Loki to handle a bow, and perhaps he’d even allow the boy to assist him at the smithy. He wished Loki could see how tall trees grew in the south, and how green the water in the fjords by their encampment was in the sunlight.

 

Sometimes he wondered if Loki had changed in his absence, if the soft roundness of childhood still lingered on his face, and if the bracelet he once wore around his arm finally fit the delicate bones of his wrist. Some nights, when the loneliness in his heart grew too heavy to bear, Thor thought of Loki, not as the boy he’d left behind, but as the young íviðja he was going to become.

 

All íviðjur were known for their beauty, and Thor knew that Loki would be no exception. His limbs would gain a slender strength while the rest of his body remained soft and lovely. Such thoughts often sent a strange lick of fire to Thor’s belly, and the letters he wrote on nights like these ended up in the hearth the moment he put his quill down.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**_War III_ **

 

The changes did not end with his horns, and Loki got his first blood in the following summer. He’d been aware of his dual nature from the moment he’d been old enough to understand that his body differed from those of his brothers’ and the noble children who sometimes visited his father’s hall. Laufey never spoke of it, and even Ulfrún shunned the topic whenever Loki tried to ask her about it, and what little he knew of his kind he’d learned from the manuscripts and codices kept in Ymir’s Hall. Most of the old tomes contained nothing beyond histories of kings and rulers of yonder years, but there were pages here and there that spoke of the íviðjur, mostly in passing, for their impact on history was not as great as those of kings long-since dead.

 

It was believed that his kind first appeared when the eldjötnar mixed their blood with the sjórisar from the eastern shores who were known for their shapeshifting and mating with many different beings. Their numbers were few and most íviðjur chose to live in the southern territories, where the practice of seiðr was not a source of fear and mistrust as it was in the north, where people still remembered the witch of the Iron Wood and her many dark deeds. Some chose to leave their homeland altogether, and it was not uncommon for an íviðja to mate with a vanir or an ás, though such unions were still frowned upon among their people.

 

Having no playmates growing up, Loki had spent countless hours with his nose stuck in a book, reading about all the different cultures that lived on the branches of Yggdrasil and dreaming of someday seeing them with his own eyes. He loved Jötunheim and its people, but the passion and loyalty both of his brothers felt for their homeland and its traditions was absent in his heart. He knew he’d never be allowed to travel without his father’s consent and a whole bunch of servants and guardians, but he liked to daydream of going outside the Wall with Thor, not just for a hunt, but to explore, to see what the world beyond their borders had to offer.

 

Loki sat in the wooden bathtub the servants had carried to his chambers and hummed an old nursery rhyme as he worked a finely boned comb through his dark locks. The ache below his navel had begun to settle in the warm water and one of the servants had left him a bowl of dried juniper berries to chew on if the pain got unbearable.

 

The coming of his blood marked the end of his childhood, and a sudden dread came over him as he realized he had reached the eligible age for taking a mate.

 

Most jarls and noble lords married their children to families of similar status and the unions were often political in nature. Both Byleistr and Helblindi were betrothed to Jarl Dagfinn’s eldest daughters, for it gave Laufey access to bountiful hunting grounds in Ivarheim while Dagfinn was allowed the use of the quarries deep under Utgård. Neither Byleistr nor Helblindi seemed to care about losing their right to choose a mate, still bedding any scullery maid or shieldmaiden that caught their eye, but to Loki the thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage was almost unbearable.

 

There would be no traveling with Thor if he was stuck in the confines of his bowers, no more than a broodmare to some lord he did not love.

 

The thought rattled in his head and he didn’t even realize his hands had begun to shake until the whalebone comb slipped into the water with a soft splash. The sudden ringing in his ears seemed to drown out the maid’s soft singing in the hallway as she dusted the tapestries, and Loki's heart felt like a frantic bird, trapped in the cage of his ribs. He raised his arm out of the water and clasped his hand around the bracelet Thor had gifted to him, tracing the grooves in the metal with trembling fingers until little by little, the ringing in his ears began to settle and Hyndla’s singing could be heard once more.

 

Loki had never been close with his father, his nursemaid and tutors more family to him than Laufey, and he had no doubts about his father’s desire to be rid of him. Distant since Loki’s birth, Laufey had never bothered to conceal his disappointment in having an íviðja in his brood, his disdain for Loki silent but ever-present in the way he brushed him aside, for Loki could never match his brothers’ brute force and skills with sword and shield, could never bring honor and glory of hard-won battles to his father’s house, and would always be a source of mistrust for having a connection with the magical energies that flowed all around them.

 

There had long been a seed of suspicion in his heart, and there were times when he wondered if Laufey blamed Loki for Farbauti’s death, for where there should have been fatherly love had only ever been cold, resentful indifference.

 

A sudden knock at his window startled him out of his dark thoughts and he strained his neck to inspect the source of the noise. There was another small tap against the glass and Loki saw the dark shape of a raven seated on his window sill. He climbed out of the bath and wrapped himself in a soft linen cloth before opening the window to let the bird in. It hopped onto his writing desk and held out its leg where a scroll of parchment was attached to its slender ankle. Loki unwrapped the string and thanked the bird with a few leftover crumbs from the honeycake he’d had earlier, shooing it out of the window.

 

He took a seat on his bed to inspect the letter. The red seal was broken, which meant it had already been read once, but Loki’s heart leapt into his throat when he realized the wax bore the official seal of the King’s army. He hurried to unwrap it and he saw the letter was from Thor, his neat penmanship instantly recognizable. The letter had been addressed to Bestla, but it was written to both of them and Loki cast a quick smile of gratitude in the direction of her inn among the tiny dots of light in the Craftsmen’s District, for he knew the raven must have been from her.

 

The letter in his hands held the first news Loki had heard about Thor in three long years, for it took months and dozens of ravens to send word all the way to the north, and most of the letters were official reports that were addressed to the city heralds.

 

Torn between devouring the entire letter and pacing himself to savor every individual word, he began to read, the nail of his little finger caught between his teeth. Thor made no mention of the battles and bloodshed, nor did he say where they had been or where they were headed, for such information could easily end up in the wrong hands on the long journey to the north.

 

For the most part, the letter was almost hilariously mundane, full of wistful thoughts about home, and Loki couldn’t help but roll his eyes when Thor spent an entire paragraph to wax lyrical about the foaming tankards of ale at the Sleeping Narwhal. It was followed by three whole paragraphs full of questions about Loki’s studies, how tall he had grown and if he still got the small dimple on his left cheek when he smiled at something. Loki let out a quiet huff of laughter and reached up to brush his fingers against his cheek.

 

His eyes reached the final sentence far too soon and he read the letter twice more before hiding it under his pillow. He did a quick job of oiling his horns and dressing himself in clean linens, and took out a fresh pot of ink from one of the drawers in his writing desk. He knew his letter would never reach Thor, but he had so much to say that he scribbled away even as the rest of the household fell quiet for the night, the pile of parchment on his desk growing as he poured the longing in his heart on paper.

 

 

* * *

 

 

As the years went on, news of the war spread to other realms, and when the battles had raged for nearly a decade, Thrym and his generals finally received offers of aid from both Asgard and Vanaheim. Some of the older generals were reluctant to accept help from those who had once been their defeat, but Thrym, who had been the one to make peace with the Æsir centuries ago, overruled them all.

 

The sky tore open in a blast of light and color one rainy autumn night, and through the Bifröst came several platoons of Vanir and Æsir soldiers in gleaming armor. They were led by an old war god named Týr, a veteran of many wars whose prowess in battle impressed even those who had doubted their King’s decision to accept outside aid.

 

The resistance from the elves remained strong despite the added ranks of their new allies, and their leaders did not hesitate to sacrifice their own. Vanir and Æsir blood soon stained the trodden battlefield, and Thor did his best to repair every broken blade and shield, but even his tools were beginning to wear with use and his work was no longer up to its usual standard.

 

Each night Thor and his fellow warriors feared the ravens would bring orders from Thrym to lay down their weapons and surrender, but no such letter came, and the tide finally turned in their favor when the dwarves of Nidavellir joined their cause.

 

The dwarves had defeated their old foes centuries ago when the myrkálfar had attempted to take over their territories in the vast network of caves under Svartálfheim. King Hreidmar and his men were hardy folk and their battle axes honed in on every weak spot in the elven armor. The dwarves, like their enemies, had harnessed the same dark energy the elves had used to take out countless jötunn warriors, and though they did not share its secrets, they showed Thor and his fellow blacksmiths how to forge small pieces of it into their blades and axes.

 

The sight of their old enemy and the knowledge that their weapon had been turned against them sent the elves into full retreat. Small factions continued to fight with vicious dedication, but by the time summer drew to an end, nearly all of the myrkálfar had been driven from their lands. The war ended in their victory when the final garrison by the western border was reclaimed, and the revelries that followed lasted nearly a fortnight.

 

The Vanir were the first to go, for their losses were greater than those among the Æsir, but they departed with newly formed bonds of friendship between Vanaheim and Jötunheim. Týr and his troops returned to Asgard soon after, but the dwarves refused to leave until the final celebratory cask of ale was empty.

 

Thrym began to send his own warriors home, but only those fit enough to travel were allowed to make the long journey north, and many were forced to remain in the healing halls until their condition improved. A great number of Utgård’s warriors had been lost on the battlefield and their souls had been sent to the eternal abode in the sky, the blood from the battles that had claimed their lives now reflected in the deep red of the aurora. Both Keila and Skoll were among the fallen, and Thor knew he was fortunate to escape nearly unscathed.

 

His heart grew light as the lush green woods that dominated the southern lands gave way to rolling hills and vast plains of rugged tundra. The air no longer carried the smell of blood and smoking ruins, but was instead fresh with the earthy scent of evergreen trees and familiar herbs and plants. Bjarke’s metal paw clanked against the well-worn gravel of the Northern Highway as he lumbered on amid a rank of warriors and their bear companions. Men continued to break out of the formation every day as the main road split into smaller trails leading into the different holds, and by the time they arrived at the river, Vimur their numbers had dwindled down to little more than three-hundred men.

 

Thor’s mouth split into a broad grin when Utgård’s high walls finally came into view one hunting moon morning, familiar even through the dense mist. A horn was blown in the tallest watch tower, the deep sound echoing through the vale as the gates of the city opened to welcome them in. The men around him cheered in unison, but Thor knew the journey home had been hard on his old companion, so he allowed Bjarke to go at his own pace even as many around him urged their own bears into a sprint.

 

Thor was one of the last to arrive, but the welcome he received was no less joyous. The streets were crowded in spite of the early hour and all around them beautiful maidens slipped garlands of juniper and wintergreen around their heads as bards sang impromptu songs of their homecoming. Many young jötnar had climbed onto the rooftops, and Thor studied each face as he rode past them, but his eyes caught no sight of Loki among the excited youths. He swallowed his disappointment and continued on to Bestla’s inn, where he knew his grandmother would be waiting with a warm meal and a tankard of good ale.

 

The windows of the Sleeping Narwhal were shuttered, but a thin string of smoke curled up from the chimney. Thor dismounted and led Bjarke to the bear pen at the back of the inn. His friend waddled to the water pail and broke the frozen surface with his iron paw, drinking his fill before going to sleep in a pile of hay.

 

The mead hall was dark save for the lone sconce on the wall under the narwhal skull, the embers in the fire pits still glowing with leftover heat from the previous night. Bestla dozed in Thor’s seat, but she awoke the moment he closed the door and set down his heavy pack. A quiet gasp and a whisper of his name broke the silence, and Thor watched as Bestla rushed across the empty tavern, her nightgown billowing in her wake. She cupped his bristled cheeks, the deep grooves around her eyes folding with the relieved smile blossoming over her face.

 

“My darling boy,” Bestla murmured. She pulled him into her arms, her shoulders shaking with her quiet sobs.

 

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I kept poor Thor and poor Loki apart for the entire chapter! But next chapter = reunion ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**_Reunion_ **

 

 

The doors of Bear Keep were open to every warrior of Utgård as the city celebrated its heroes. Long tables in the mead hall threatened to bend under the weight of the mighty feast, and the air was full of music and laughter. Thor arrived in his best tunic, his hair braided at his nape and horns freshly polished, but celebrations among their people were neither sophisticated nor sober, and many of the guests were already deep in their cups by the time they sat down to eat.

 

There was still no sign of Loki, and Thor did his best to ignore the tug of disappointment in his heart even as he eyed the crowd around him, his search in vain. The Jarl oversaw the celebrations from his high table with his twin sons at his side, the banners of his house and of their city displayed proudly behind them. Both Byleistr and Helblindi were covered in fresh battle scars, but like most berserkers, they wore such marks with pride. One of them had shaved his entire head to display the long gash on his scalp, the skin around it damaged from the poison on the enemy’s blade. They both took turns at toasting all the brave warriors of Utgård, and their boastful words were met with loud cheers.

 

Many of the serving girls found a perch on a warrior’s knee as the night wore on, and the celebrations began to grow rowdy. Mead and ale flowed freely and Thor felt his head begin to spin from the combination of spirits. He put his tankard down well before midnight to make sure he’d be able to make the long climb up to his cabin in one piece, eager for his own bed after countless nights on uncomfortable cots and bed rolls.

 

The bards ceased their singing and a sudden hush fell into the hall when the Jarl raised his hand high above his massive horns, staggering up to his feet.

 

“My children!” he bellowed. “Tonight we celebrate the sons and daughters of Utgård who have kept our lands safe!” The Jarl’s words were met with hearty cheers, but the crowd fell silent once more when a slight figure stepped forth from the shadows. “Allow my son to honor you all with a song.”

 

Thor’s mouth fell open as he stared at the youth before them, for here was Loki, no longer a child but a boy on the cusps of manhood. The cut of his shoulders was sharper now, his trim waist in lovely contrast with the touch of softness that still clung to his face. He wore a shawl made of silver fox pelts, and his horns and dark locks were decorated with gold and linite. Thor brought his goblet to his lips and took a deep drink as he continued to stare, the vision before his eyes clashing with the memories he’d held of Loki through their long separation.

 

Loki set the stringed instrument in his hands on the small table the servants had brought out for him and took a seat behind it. He brushed his hair over his shoulder and regarded his audience, his red gaze drifting from face to face. Thor felt his breath catch in his throat when their eyes finally met through the sea of people between them. Loki, too, jolted in his seat before catching himself and they watched each other for a beat, Thor’s stunned smile mirrored on Loki’s lips.

 

Laufey had his goblet refilled by one of the serving girls and motioned for Loki to begin. “Go on, son, sing us a song.”

 

The banners above their heads fluttered and the anticipation in the room grew as Loki settled his fingers on his instrument, the lacquered wood hand-painted and decorated with colorful twines and flowers. It had been years since Thor had seen a harpeleik, for not many knew how to play one. Loki began to pluck the strings, his voice soft and clear as it broke the silence in the hall.

 

Many of the men in the crowd were deep in their cups, but every single one of them listened with rapt attention as Loki began to sing of Belgermir and the dawn of their people, his voice bewitching the entire hall. Thor, too, found himself transfixed and unable to tear his gaze away.

 

Loki’s long fingers danced on the strings, the familiar melody stirring feelings of pride in the heart of every listener. He peered up between each verse, his red gaze finding Thor across the smoky hall, his smile even sweeter than Thor remembered.

 

The final note of the song rang into the air, but the silence in the hall lingered. Loki raised his face and glanced at his father who rested his cheek in his hand, equally moved by his son’s performance as the rest of the men. He gave a pleased nod and clapped his hands together. The entire hall joined the Jarl in the applause, and Loki gave a low bow, collecting his harpeleik from the table. He threw Laufey a pleading look, no doubt asking for permission to join the revelries, but the Jarl shook his head, one of the thralls already hurrying to escort Loki away. Loki glanced at Thor over his shoulder, his face disappointed as he was ushered out of the mead hall.

 

The loss of his presence hit Thor harder than he’d expected, the brief moment in the same room with Loki enough to ignite a deep, unprecedented greed in his heart. He tore his gaze away from the door Loki had disappeared to when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It belonged to a young serving girl and she bent down to refill his his tankard, her smile playfully coy as she attempted to sit on his knee.

 

Thor shook his head and refused her offer of companionship gently, for even his long abstinence did not make her desirable to him. He sank his teeth into the soft and ripe peach he’d saved for dessert, his thoughts continuing to linger on Loki as the sweet juices ran down his knuckles.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The entire city was in a festive mood, each tavern so packed that people had taken their celebrations out to the streets. It was past midnight, but the temple square was alive with merriment as Thor made his way back to Craftsmen’s District. He’d remained at the feast for another hour after Loki’s performance in hopes of catching another glimpse of him, but the boy hadn’t reappeared and it would have been improper of Thor to wander off in search of him.

 

He’d bathed at the public bath house next to Bestla’s inn, and he’d not seen his cabin in over a decade. One of the porch stairs appeared to have collapsed and the chimney could have used some new brickwork, but everything else appeared unchanged. Bjarke had found his way up to the outcrop and he was asleep in front of the smithy, his snores echoing from the cave walls.

 

Thor reached up behind the eaves to find the key to his house, frowning when his fingers found nothing but dust balls and mice droppings.

 

“I’m certain I left it there....”

 

He did keep a spare key in the attic at the inn, but he decided to try the handle on the door, and to his great surprise, found it unlocked.

 

He’d expected to come back to a dank and dusty hovel, but waiting inside was Loki, his face buried in soft reindeer pelts in front of the low-burning fire in the hearth. Thor had been in an elevated state from the moment they reached the northern territories, but the realization that he was finally and truly home didn’t wash over him until now, as he watched Loki’s slumbering form.

 

His chest swelled with warmth and he stood frozen in the doorway for a long moment, drinking in the familiar sights and sounds: Loki’s quiet breaths under the crackle of fire and the smell of old wood and sweet wax of melted candles.

 

Loki shifted on the furs as the draft from the door made the flames flutter, and Thor finally stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He left his wet boots by the threshold and knelt down to lay a gentle hand on Loki’s shoulder.

 

Loki let out a quiet mewl as he stirred awake, his eyes bleary with sleep. “Thor?”

 

Thor brushed his knuckles over Loki’s high cheekbone. “Aye.”

 

Loki sat up, the lingering drowsiness disappearing in a flash as he climbed into Thor’s lap.

 

_"Thor!_ ”

 

Thor wound his arms around Loki’s shoulders and pulled the boy into a firm embrace. He buried his face into Loki’s hair, his sleep-warm skin like a caress against his cheek after the bite of the night chill. He drew in a deep breath, and another, and another as he filled his lungs with Loki’s familiar scent, a mix of berry oils and sweet herbs from the vale. He’d often dreamt of a moment just like this, but no dream could ever capture the solid weight and warmth of Loki’s body, or the sheer exquisiteness of his presence.

 

“I’ve missed you so,” Thor breathed, and laid a soft kiss to Loki’s cheek.

 

There was a quiet sob between them as Loki burrowed deeper into his arms, and Thor could feel the minute tremble of his shoulders as he began to weep.

 

“Shh, it’s alright, I’m here now,” he whispered, breaking the embrace gently. Loki blinked at him, his chin trembling as he nodded, and Thor saw the tears he shed were those of joy and relief. He brushed his thumbs over the freckled skin under Loki’s eyes to dry away the salt, and rose to his feet to take a seat in one of the chairs by the hearth, beckoning for Loki to follow. “Come here, let me look at you.”

 

Loki stepped closer and Thor took hold of his hands as he studied the boy’s tall and svelte form. His hair fell over his shoulders in glossy black waves and the horns that had been but tiny stubs when Thor last saw him had grown long and symmetrical, their polished surface glowing in the firelight. His waist remained narrow, but there was hint of softness on his hips that Thor knew had not been there before.

 

“It finally fits,” Thor noted as his eyes were drawn to the glint of silver around Loki’s slender wrist.

 

“Aye…” Loki brushed his fingers over the bracelet Thor had gifted to him nearly two decades ago. He reached up for the silver clasps on his neck, and Thor watched as the fur shawl he wore around his shoulders fell to his feet, exposing his long arms, now adorned with intricate swirls of white ink. “I’m not a child anymore.”

 

“No, you are not…” Thor agreed, taking in Loki’s changed appearance.

 

He reached up to trace the tattooed lines on his pointed chin and his mouth split into a smile when he looked up, the familiar designs on Loki’s cheeks catching his eye.

 

Loki’s shifted his weight from foot to foot, his gaze a little uncertain as Thor traced his fingers over the inked lines and circles.

 

“I drew them from memory…”

 

“They suit you,” Thor said, his smile fond. “I’m honored.”

 

To see Loki had marked himself with a pattern that had been in Thor’s family for several generations sent a pool of warmth to his belly, and in his heart was a sensation he struggled to name.

 

“Did you like my song?” Loki asked, leaning a little closer between Thor’s parted thighs.

 

“You put Ylva and her lute to shame,” Thor nodded.

 

The metal of his fingers glinted in the firelight and Loki let out a soft gasp. He took Thor’s hand in his own and clasped his fingers around the lifeless metal. “Thor, your hand!”

 

“Few of us came back unscathed.” The joints on the fingers were well oiled, but they made a small metallic creak as Thor moved them against Loki’s palm. “I was one of the lucky ones.”

 

Loki examined the harness, bending each digit up and down. “Do they hurt? I mean… what’s left of them.”

 

“Aye, sometimes,” Thor nodded. “But I’m fortunate to still have the use of my hand.” He wriggled his remaining finger. “It was your ring that spared this one.”

 

Loki tightened his grip on Thor’s hand, his hold possessive. “You’ll not go to another war.” It was not a question but a statement, and Thor could not help but be touched by the quiet determination he saw in Loki’s eyes.

 

“You forbid it?”

 

“Aye, I do.”

 

Thor exhaled a quiet hum of laughter, the air of seriousness between them disappearing. He reached up to trace the shell of Loki’s ear with his prosthetic fingers and gave the many golden rings on the lobe a tiny flick.

 

“You’ve grown so beautiful.”

 

Loki cocked his head and the familiar dimple on his cheek deepened with his smile. “And you’ve grown old,” he announced, looking pointedly at the faint streak of silver on Thor’s chin.

 

Most races were blessed with long lives and the jötnar were no exception. A decade was a mere heartbeat for their people, but caught in an endless cycle of blood and death, even a single change of seasons could feel like a lifetime.

 

Thor raised his brows in mock surprise. “I see that tongue of yours is as sharp as ever…”

 

Loki wrapped his fingers around Thor’s braid and spun it around his fingers a few times before letting it slip out of his hand. He glanced out of the window and stretched his arms high above his head as he pretended to yawn. “It is rather late…” He leaned closer into Thor’s personal space, his eyes imploring. “Will you take me to bed?”

 

The question was innocent enough, for Loki had spent the night at Thor’s cabin many a time in the past, whenever his absence wouldn’t be noticed the following morning. It was the choice of words that sent another jolt of heat into Thor’s belly.

 

“You know I cannot say no to you...”

 

The smile on Loki’s face turned positively smug, and Thor watched as he kicked his boots off before rushing to the stairs that led up to the sleeping loft, the rickety steps creaking as he climbed up and dove under the furs.

 

Thor changed into his sleeping tunic and fetched the spare pair of horn plugs from the washing nook for Loki, for they had lost count of how many pillow cases he’d torn over the years, tossing and turning in his sleep.

 

“I must warn you, I still snore like a bear,” Thor said, settling down in the space Loki had left for him.

 

“And I still don’t mind,” came Loki’s reply, but the laughter in his voice died when he saw Thor reach for the fastenings that held his harness in place.

 

“I’m sorry, but I have to take it off for the night… You can close your eyes if you want to.”

 

Loki shook his head and leaned his weight on his elbow to watch as Thor began to unbuckle the leather straps around his wrist. He pulled the stumps out of the metal sockets one by one, and Loki could not hide the quiet gasp that escaped his lips as each gnarled finger was revealed to his eyes. There was no feeling left where the elven blade had cut through flesh and bone, but Thor’s mouth curved up as he watched Loki take his hand in his own and lace their fingers together.

 

He laid his head on the soft down pillow and could not help but groan with how good it felt to be in his own bed after the countless drafty barracks he’d seen over the years.

 

Loki curled up against his side and clutched the sleeve of Thor’s tunic in his hand. “Will you still be here when I wake up?”

 

Thor recognized the anxious edge in Loki’s voice, for he knew it well; a constant fear of closing his eyes and waking up to find himself in the midsts of battle, home still nothing more than a dream.

 

“I will be right here,” he said, the reassuring words as much for himself as they were for Loki. He wound his arms around Loki’s shoulder and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Sleep now, Loki, for I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The wind began to blow from the north sometime before dawn, rattling the loose roof tiles above the loft. The cold that rolled down from the glaciers painted frost flowers on the small window at the foot of the bed, and Loki listened as the walls around them wailed and creaked from the strong gusts. He was too impatient to sleep, his entire body thrumming with the excitement of their reunion.

 

Thor did not appear to share his problem, for he was fast asleep in the soft furs beside him, the barrel of his chest falling and rising with his loud snores. Loki leaned against his elbow and conjured up a tiny ball of light in his palm, dim enough not to disturb Thor’s slumber. His face was relaxed with sleep, but the lines around his eyes were deeper than Loki remembered, and the bristles on his chin truly did hold a hint of silver. He traced a gentle finger over the gaunt shadows on Thor’s cheeks, wondering if the fatigue that seemed to cling to many of their returning warriors had a name.

 

He turned his eyes to Thor’s hand where it rested on his chest and brought the orb of light down to illuminate the severed fingers. The skin was badly damaged with light blue scars that snaked down all the way to Thor’s wrist, and Loki felt a rush of anger in his heart at whoever had dared to rob Thor of his fingers. He enclosed the severed knuckles in his own hand, his hold possessive as he rested his head on Thor’s chest.

 

When he next woke, the loft was bathed in pale sunlight. Dust motes danced in the beams of light that filtered in through the window panes, the flowers of frost on the glass now melted. His fingers were still wrapped around Thor’s knuckles, but as the last dregs of sleep cleared up, Loki became aware of the silence around them. The deep snores he’d grown so accustomed to had ceased, and when he glanced up, he found that he was being watched.

 

“You still drool in your sleep like a loose-tongued pup,” Thor remarked, his blue eyes fond as he reached up to brush his thumb against the corner of Loki’s mouth.

 

“I do not!”

 

Loki rose up to rub his face against his sleeve, pretending he didn’t see the large wet spot on Thor’s tunic even as Thor began to wipe at it. He threw his leg over Thor’s hip and climbed into his lap to straddle him, and the glint in his eyes turned mischievous as he tried to recall some of Thor’s weak spots.

 

“No, not the-”

 

“Not the beard!” Loki sing-songed, tugging on Thor’s braided bristles.

 

“Ah, but you’re not the only one who knows how to play dirty, Loki…”

 

Loki squealed and squirmed like a minnow as Thor dug his fingers into the soft flesh just under his armpits, equally privy to all of Loki’s own weak spots. “Alright, alright,” he cried out, a mixture of sobs and giggles spilling from his lips when Thor’s fingers found his most ticklish spot at the center of his belly. “I-I give up!”

 

Thor gave him one more tickle between the ribs before finally releasing his hold on Loki’s sides.

 

“You cheated…” Loki huffed, beating his fist gently against Thor’s chest.

 

“You’re one to speak,” Thor laughed. He folded one arm behind his head, his face the picture of smugness.

 

“I never cheat!”

 

“No, never,” Thor smirked, reaching up to tap his finger on Loki’s nose.

 

Loki growled and swatted Thor’s hand away, but it was difficult to feign upset when the corners of his mouth refused to twist into a pout. He leaned his weight on the swell of Thor’s stomach and gave a little bounce until he was rewarded with a satisfying groan, deciding it was enough to soothe the sting of his surrender.

 

“Are you ready to break the fast?” Thor asked, scratching at his chin. “Though I fear my pantry will be quite a miserable sight.”

 

Loki shook his head and settled down to rest his cheek against Thor’s chest. “Not yet,” he sighed, nosing at the bare patch of skin at the collar of Thor’s tunic. “Can we just… mmmh.” He let his eyes slip closed as Thor began to play with one of the small braids Ulfrún had worked into Loki’s hair, his relaxed smile mirrored on Thor’s face.

 

He’d long since lost count of the days he’d spent waiting for this precise moment, climbing up to White Horn to watch the desolate tundra, the disappointment he felt at the sight of the empty roads a permanent guest in his heart. The final few years had been the worst, and he’d seen many of those who’d stayed behind slowly lose hope as the ravens carried with them list after list of names of their fallen loved ones.

 

News of the victory had been bittersweet, and Loki knew he and Bestla were fortunate to have Thor return to them whole and hale. He’d barely left his perch on the porch of the mountainside after news of the returning troops reached Utgård, eager to finally catch sight of them on the Northern Highway. And now the moment had finally come. Thor was home and his heart drummed a steady beat under Loki’s cheek, his skin warm where Loki’s fingers had slipped under the collar of Thor’s tunic.

 

Loki tilted his face up to meet Thor’s eyes, the overwhelming immensity of the feeling he held for Thor deep in his breast as thrilling as it was confusing. Still too young to name it, Loki chose instead to simply heed its call.

 

He rested his weight on his elbows and placed a tentative hand on Thor’s shoulder. Licking his lips, he kept his eyes on Thor as he began to slowly lean down, doing his best to ignore the wild staccato beat of his heart.

 

The lazy smile on Thor’s face faded and his eyes shone with quiet alarm as Loki’s intent became clear to him. “Loki…”

 

“ _I’m not a child_ ,” Loki whispered, and taking Thor’s hand in his own, he closed the small distance between them, the gap between childhood and whatever came next finally breached.

 

Thor’s lips were warm and dry and much fuller than his own. Loki sealed his mouth against them, thinking of the many kisses the bards at his father’s hall used to sing about in their love songs. Thor’s lips parted in a stunned gasp and Loki’s grip around his fingers turned into a nervous vice as the fear of refusal began to mount in his heart.

 

“I’m not a child…” he repeated, the words a choked whisper between their mouths.

 

“I know,” Thor murmured, the grip of fear around Loki’s heart loosening when he felt the warm brush of Thor’s fingers on his nape. “I know, Loki.” He pressed a gentle hand to Loki’s breast, forcing him to lean back and meet his eyes. “But are you certain about this?”

 

Loki had never been more certain about anything. He wanted Thor with every last fiber of his being. “Does this not feel right?” he asked, and pressed another kiss to Thor’s full lips, a small burst of laughter escaping his mouth as he felt them curve up in a smile.

 

“Aye, it does,” Thor murmured. He tilted Loki’s head slightly to the right, mouthing at the seam of his lips. “It feels like coming home.”

 

They watched each other closely, their shoulders shaking with a sudden rush of laughter and Thor encircled Loki with his large arms, nuzzling at the roots of his horns.

 

He captured Loki’s lips in another kiss and he kept it light and gentle, allowing them both to get used to this new form of affection. Loki relaxed his grip on Thor’s hand and laced their fingers together, the tension in his muscles releasing as Thor continued to mouth at his lips, flicking his tongue out for a quick taste, just a tease of things to come.

 

They both moaned when Loki shifted in Thor’s lap, the relief he’d felt only a moment ago now laced with a burgeoning need low in his belly. He’d rarely touched himself intimately, but he was no stranger to desire and he pressed his hips down once more, rocking against Thor’s thigh.

 

“Loki…” Thor groaned. He settled his hand on Loki’s hip to still him, but there was no rejection in his eyes as he reached up to cup Loki’s inked cheek. “One step at a time, alright? There’s no need to rush anything.”

 

“Alright.” Loki rubbed his cheek against Thor’s palm, content to simply bask in his affection.

 

Outside the weak autumn sun struggled to break through a thick mass of clouds that had begun to gather above the city.

 

“I reckon most of Utgård still slumbers,” Loki said, resting his head on Thor’s shoulder as Thor ran his fingers through his hair.

 

“Aye, there will be many sore heads to nurse this morning,” Thor chuckled.

 

Loki doubted his absence from Bear Keep would be noticed until nightfall, for he’d slipped out at the height of the revelries and even Ulfrún had grown too old to watch his every move.

 

“I come of age this winter,” Loki said after a beat, tilting his head to glance up at Thor. “Will you take me to see the bear breeders in Holmvík?”

 

“Me?”

 

“Please? Father says I cannot make the journey alone and Fyrnir is too old and too fat _and_ he’s awfully dull,” Loki pouted. “I’ll die of boredom if I have to spend three whole days in his company!”

 

“Alright, alright,” Thor laughed. “Of course I’ll take you, but only if we have your father’s approval.”

 

Loki beamed, his cheeks dimpling as he lifted himself up to press a quick kiss to Thor’s lips. “Thank you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thor walked among the priests and watched them go about their daily chores as he waited for Loki to return from his audience with the Elders who oversaw the practice of seiðr in their city. One of the oldest buildings in Utgård, Ymir’s Temple was a combination of sturdy pine and ancient stone, built by the first of their people to settle in the north. The wood was saturated black with tar, the smell of it permeating each corner of the cavernous building. The windows were small and most of the light inside came from the many torches and sconces where they burned day and night on the intricately decorated walls and pillars.

 

At the center of the hall stood a massive statue of Ymir, the surrounding pedestal white with a sea of melted wax from the hundreds of candles that had illuminated the giant’s stone frame over the years. Once the most impressive carving of their progenitor in all of Jötunheim, the statue no longer drew a crowd of worshipers as it once did, for the old ways had slowly fallen into oblivion after their borders were opened for other realms and cultures.

 

It had been centuries since Thor had set foot inside the temple, but the sweet smell of the incense the priests burned in their censers was still familiar to him from the first few years of his life spent in their care. Some of the priests paused in their duties to greet him as he passed them, their smiles warm with recognition.

 

He took a seat on the back pews and watched a young artisan at her work, chipping away at a lump of granite to add to the collection of statues that decorated the courtyard outside, this one in the likeness of their current jarl. Laufey’s features were fierce and lively, his sword and shield raised toward the sky in a show of triumph, and Thor had no doubt that every jarl of every hold was commissioning similar statues after their victory.

 

It was remarkable how fast their people had moved on, the decade-long war in the south already falling into stories and songs for the skalds and bards to remember. The temple offered a quiet place for contemplation and resting one’s mind, and Thor took note of the familiar faces sitting in the pews around him, men and women who had witnessed the horrors of war like Thor. He glanced at the young man sitting to his left, a woodcutter’s son if Thor was not mistaken, and he could tell by the hunched shoulders and the vacant look in his eyes that not everyone had put the memories of battle behind them.

 

Their eyes met briefly and Thor gave the boy a sympathetic smile. He still woke with the occasional nightmare, a shadow of a poisoned blade flashing behind his eyelids as he struggled to wake himself, but most of his nights were restful, Loki’s weight against his side a source of comfort. He’d slipped back into his old life and routines by busying himself in the smithy and preparing Bestla’s pantry for the winter months, filling it with different game. Loki often accompanied him to his hunts, finally big enough to wield a bow of his own, though he had yet to catch anything, the rabbits, lemmings and grouse that moved in the shrubbery still too fast for him as he fumbled with his arrows.

 

One of the doors in the far back opened and out came Loki, his smile well-pleased as he joined Thor by the pews.

 

“Well, do the elders grant you your request?” Thor asked, though the lack of an angry sulk was telling enough.

 

“Aye, they do,” Loki nodded. “They say I’m allowed to begin my lessons in illusions as soon as I come of age, though they did tell me I’m to limit my practices to my own body.”

 

“That is good news,” Thor nodded, his smile teasing as he reached down to give Loki’s right horn a light squeeze “I’d rather not wake up one morning to find a pair of caribou antlers growing out of my head.”

 

Loki swatted Thor’s hand away, his long-suffering sigh making it very clear that Thor should stick to things he actually understood. “As if I would waste my talents on such a trivial ruse.” He bared his teeth in an impish smile. “A pig’s snout sounds so much better. Perhaps it would put an end to your snoring.”

 

Thor narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion. “Can you do that?”

 

Loki shook his head, but the grin on his lips grew positively wicked. “Not yet…”

 

Thor let out an amused bark of laughter and chased Loki out through the large double doors and across the courtyard, the freshly fallen snow under their boots flying up in a flurry. Loki was too fast on his feet for Thor to capture and he crouched down to scoop up a handful of snow. He shaped it into a large ball and flung it at Loki, hitting him square in the back.

 

Loki’s surprised cry pierced the air and he spun around, red eyes wide with shock. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” he grinned, one dark brow climbing up as he pointed his finger at Thor, the snow at his feet rising into the air.

 

“Wait, wait, Loki, that’s cheating! Don’t you dare-”

 

Thor brought his hands up to shield himself, but he still got a faceful of snow as Loki flung his little missiles at him from across the yard.

 

“Ymir’s stones, Loki, it went down my neck!” He was still sputtering and wiping at his face when he felt something collide with his side and he was sent tumbling down into the soft snow.

 

Loki straddled his thighs, his chest heaving with his panting breaths as he grinned down at Thor.

 

He scooped up a bit of snow to make his upper hand more obvious. “Do you yield?”

 

“No, I don’t think I do,” Thor smirked.

 

“ _No!?_ ” Loki sputtered, and the snow in his palm fell away when Thor grabbed hold of his hips and spun them around, pinning Loki under his bulk.

 

The fight went out in Loki, the playful glint in his eyes disappearing as his gaze grew dark. They watched each other closely, their faces mere inches apart. Loki’s warm breaths puffed against Thor’s lips as he leaned closer. He felt Loki part his thighs a little wider, the heel of his boot pressing against Thor’s lower back until his heavy bulk rested against Loki’s body.

 

He’d been slow in his advances, but he could not deny the lust Loki awoke in his blood, for he was beautiful and clever beyond compare. They spent their evenings by the hearth, Thor in his armchair and Loki in his lap, trading heated kisses as Loki rocked against his thigh, quick to arouse in his youthful eagerness.

 

“Take me out, take me out,” Loki would whisper as he drew closer to his peak, his warm spend coating Thor’s fingers the moment he reached into Loki’s breeches.

 

Eager as he was, Loki did not share Thor’s years of experience and he had yet to touch him in similar manner, the nervous flash in his eyes hard to miss whenever he dropped his gaze on Thor’s arousal, the girth of it impossible to conceal where it strained against his laces.

 

“There’s no need to rush,” Thor would remind him, taking care of himself in the small outhouse behind the cabin before escorting Loki down into the city.

 

What they had begun was a risky thing. Thor was no simple peasant, but no jarl would ever give their offspring to a common blacksmith, and Thor was not naive enough to think that Laufey would be an exception. He knew it was foolish to let himself fall for someone he couldn’t keep, but to love Loki, even for a little while, was a risk worth taking.

 

“What are you thinking of?” Loki asked, brushing off some of the snow from Thor’s hair with his glove. “You drifted off just now…”

 

“Did I?” Thor’s smile was forced, and he knew Loki could see right through it. He cleared his throat and sank his fingers into Loki’s flanks, distracting him with a well-aimed tickle. “I was simply plotting my revenge!”

 

There was an indignant cough to their right and when Thor glanced up he was greeted by the disapproving face of Halbard the Wise. The sight of the priest served as a reminder that they were very much in public and Thor rushed to his feet, holding out a hand for Loki. They cleaned each other’s furs from clumps of snow, and Thor led Loki up a flight of stairs to the large wooden archway that marked the beginning of the Noble District.

 

“I’ll have to finish the repairs on the chimney before nightfall, but I can walk you home if you like.”

 

Loki gave a pleased nod and slipped his arms around Thor’s elbow, an excited stream of words pouring from his lips as he continued to tell Thor of his meeting with the priests. The touch was innocent enough, but Thor could not help but notice some of the looks they had begun to draw from the nobles around them, and he withdrew his arm from Loki’s hold the moment Bear Keep loomed in the distance.

 

“I fear you’ll have to make the rest of the way on your own.”

 

Oblivious to the looks around him, Loki stood up on his toes and wrapped one of his hands around Thor’s horn to pull him down for a quick parting kiss. Thor felt his skin prickle at the sudden buzz of whispers around them and he stopped Loki at the last moment, drawing him into an innocent embrace. He felt Loki tense up and pressed his lips to his ear. “I fear we cannot do that in public, Loki,” he whispered.

 

Loki withdrew from him and glanced around. His face twisted into a scowl as he took in the furtive looks the nobles threw their way. “It’s not fair,” he hissed, his good mood giving way to frustration as he realized their liaisons would have to remain private.

 

“I know it isn’t,” Thor sighed. He wished to kiss the frown away from Loki’s brow, but he settled for a simple pat on his shoulder. “Don’t go getting into any trouble now,” he smirked, the weight in his heart lifting a little when he saw the faint smile tugging on Loki’s lips.

 

Thor watched Loki disappear into the crowd and began to head back, his face a mask of casual indifference as he retraced his steps through the gossiping nobles.

 

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the feedback! I'm so happy you guys are enjoying the story! Next chapter: sexy times ;)))


	5. Chapter 5

**_To North_ **

 

Loki rested his cheek against his hand and stared at the bowl of soup the servants had set before him. He sank his spoon into the broth and shifted the golden potatoes from side to side, his appetite already ruined with the tarts he’d pilfered from the kitchens after his lessons with Grýla. To his right, Helblindi dunked a chunk of bread into his own bowl, splashing some of the greasy soup on the sleeve of Loki’s tunic. He glared at his brother, but Helblindi didn’t even seem to be aware of his presence.

 

During the war, Loki had taken most of his meals with Ulfrún and Fyrnir, and it was strange to be back in his father’s private chambers for their weekly family dinners. Although smaller than the mead hall, the room still held an air of pompous grandeur, the many ceremonial weapons, antlers and animal pelts mounted on the walls serving as a reminder of Laufey’s position and prowess.

 

Loki was rarely included in the dinner conversation, and his mind began to wander as the topic moved on to some manner of land dispute their father was expected to resolve. He turned his eyes to the tall window behind Byleistr’s hulking form, his gaze traveling over smoking chimneys and snow-clad rooftops. High above the city, on the side of the mountain, glowed a tiny dot of light, and Loki’s smile turned a little wistful as he wondered if Thor was enjoying a lonely meal in the warmth of his cabin at this very moment.

 

He snapped out of his thoughts when Helblindi nudged at his shoulder with a pointed elbow.

 

Loki shot his brother an offended glare. “What was that for?”

 

“Did your ears fall into your soup?” Helblindi scoffed. “Father is speaking to you.”

 

“Oh.” Loki straightened up in his seat and made a half-hearted attempt to look a little bashful as he met Laufey’s eyes across the table. “Yes, Father?”

 

“I was simply remarking how you are very nearly of age now.” Laufey reclined against the soft furs draped over his chair, his eyes half-lidded as he watched Loki over the rim of his wine goblet. “Still runtish and frail, but no longer a child.”

 

Loki bit his cheek at the thinly-veiled insult. “Yes, Father.”

 

“You’ll be making your first trip to the bear breeders,” Byleistr said through a mouthful of food. “Excited, Brother?”

 

Loki’s mood lifted at the question and he gave an eager nod. “I cannot wait to have a bear of my own!”

 

“The trail to Holmvík is full of perils.” Laufey smacked his wine-stained lips and pointed his long finger at Loki. “You will obey Fyrnir’s every word, and you’ll not leave his side-”

 

“But Father,” Loki interrupted, the rings around his horns tingling as he shook his head. “I wish to choose my own guide.”

 

Laufey furrowed his brows, and for a moment, it appeared he was going to deny Loki’s request with no room for arguments. The lopsided smirk that rose to his lips was unexpected. “And who, pray tell, would you choose to take as you guide, little Loki?”

 

Loki bristled at the condescending tone, aware that his father was only asking for his opinion to amuse himself. “I wish to go with Thor,” he announced.

 

Laufey narrowed his eyes, and both Helblindi and Byleistr gaped at Loki with vacant expressions.

 

Laufey scratched at his tattooed chin, and Loki finally saw a glint of recognition in the deep red of his eyes. “Thor Ironhand? The blacksmith?”

 

“Aye…”

 

“Since when are you friends with the blacksmith?” Helblindi snorted. “What would he want with a runt like you?”

 

Loki ignored his brother’s barb, and readied his silver tongue to convince his father of his choice in guide. “Thor is an excellent hunter and his knowledge of our lands is vast. I cannot think of a better guide.”

 

“He does make good armor,” Byleistr noted.

 

Loki gave his brother a pleased smile, thankful for the support. “He’s held the trust and patronage of your house for many years.” Loki knew his father didn’t pay much heed to common folk or their services, but reminding him that Thor was no stranger couldn’t hurt.

 

Laufey was silent for a long time, his eyes calculating. When he finally spoke, the previous air of amusement in his voice was gone. “You will go with Fyrnir as planned,” he announced.

 

Loki sank his nails into the meat of his thighs, forcing himself to swallow down the argument threatening to spill from his lips at the denial. “But Father, what if Fyrnir is unable to go?” he asked instead, aware that yelling would get him nowhere. “What if he should fall ill?” he continued, voice honeyed. “After all, it is _tradition_ to make the journey up north on one’s nameday.”

 

Laufey narrowed his eyes, aware that Loki was attempting to turn his deep-set respect for their ancient rules and customs against him. “Then one of my guards will take you,” he replied stiffly. “Fenjót and Vigglod are both capable men as are their numerous comrades.”

 

Loki folded his arms across his chest, his mouth curving up in a sly little smile. He knew he was trying his luck now, the deep grooves on Laufey’s forehead a visible warning of his rising temper, but he had nothing to lose, so he pushed on. “And what if, by some stroke of bad luck, your guards cannot take me?”

 

“Loki…” Laufey’s grip around his goblet tightened, and he reached up to rub at his temple, unamused by the verbal tug of war Loki had dragged him into.

 

Loki continued to stare at his father with expectant eyes, determined to stand his ground until he found a loophole. “Well? What say you, Father? Can I choose my own guide if none of your own men are available?”

 

Laufey set his goblet down so hard some of the wine spilled down his knuckles, a sign that Loki had managed to get under his skin. One of the servants rushed over to clean the mess, and Loki saw the way his father’s left eye twitched as the servant dabbed at his hand with a napkin.

 

“I suppose there is no reason for me to deny your request, pointless as it is,” Laufey conceded with a weary sigh.

 

“Thank you, Father,” Loki smiled, pleased about his small victory.

 

Laufey ignored him as he rose from the table and withdrew to his sitting room, the dinner officially over.

 

“You’re a fool,” Helblindi scoffed, slurping down the last of his soup. “Do you think half of the household is going to fall ill on the eve of your nameday? Even your foul spells cannot take down three dozen men.”

 

_You underestimate me, Brother, as always._

 

“You never know what the Fates have in store for us,” Loki muttered under his breath, the gears in his head already turning as he bid his brothers a goodnight.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It took him a week to find a suitable concoction from his alchemy books, and another to track down all the ingredients he’d need to brew it. His father was likely going to guess the culprit, but Loki made sure to cover his tracks well, and he bought several pouches of harmless herbs meant for everyday ailments in addition to the poisonous swamp nettle. His skills in alchemy were still rudimentary, but the most dangerous potions were often the easiest to make, and Loki had a vial of strong sleeping extract ready by the time his nameday drew closer.

 

The knowledge that he was going to poison most of the household, including his old nursemaid, made him second-guess his plan as he packed his things on the eve of the journey. Thor would certainly not approve of his methods, but Laufey had left him no other choice.

 

“Anyway, it’s only temporary,” he said to Lauga, who watched him from her spot by the hearth, the look in the dog's eyes decidedly judgemental. “It won’t do any permanent harm.”

 

Loki snuck into the kitchens right before dinner time, his heart in his throat as he poured a dose of the mixture into each opened barrel of mead and wine to ensure its effect would be as widespread as possible. He spent the rest of the evening in his chambers, ignoring the summons to join his family for dinner, too nervous to see if his little scheme would work. When no servants appeared to prepare his evening bath, Loki finally poked his nose out of the door and made his way downstairs.

 

He gasped at the sight that greeted him in the servants’ quarters. The long table in the dining room was full of slumbering men and women, Fyrnir and Ulfrún among them. Loki circled around the table and poked at their cheeks and shoulders, but every servant in the room was in a state of deep unconsciousness, the potion potent enough to keep the household asleep for a full day and night.

 

He enchanted the hearth in the corner to warm the room with a steady flame before slipping out, his stomach in knots as he climbed up to Laufey’s private chambers. He peeked inside through the narrow gap in the door and spotted three large forms, still as the dead where they were seated at the dinner table.

 

Loki slipped inside and tiptoed across the room to take a closer look. Both Helblindi and Byleistr were asleep in their chairs, their tunics wet with spilled ale, tankards still held in a loose grip. Laufey’s personal servant and taster lay in a heap by his master’s chair, and would likely be the first to wake, having consumed the smallest amount of Loki’s concoction.

 

Loki gave Helblindi’s broad shoulder a shove and watched with glee as his brother fell forward, his cheek smashing against the scraps of his dinner.

 

“Who’s the fool now?”

 

Their father sat at the head of the table, slumped against the high back of his chair like a lifeless doll. Loki’s steps turned more timid as he approached him. He rested his hand against the armrest and leaned closer, the sight of Laufey's sleep-relaxed face foreign to him. He looked older in his slumber, his skin waxy and deeply grooved under the lines of his tattoos.

 

“Care to make another bargain, Father?” Loki sneered.

 

His breath caught in his throat when he saw Laufey jerk against the backrest.

 

“You little wretch,” Laufey groaned, his speech slurred as if he were deep in his cups. His eyes fluttered open, the look in them nearly lucid as he fixed them on Loki’s shocked face. “It appears… I underestimated you.”

 

Loki frowned, for it almost sounded like there was a hint of pride in Laufey’s mumbled words. He let out a startled cry when he felt large fingers around his wrist, the grip hard enough to bruise.

 

“Do not think I’ll make the same mistake again, boy,” Laufey grunted, his hold on Loki’s wrist going lax as he fell into slumber once more.

 

Loki backed away and lifted his arm to rub at his aching bones. He tried to ignore the minute tremble of his shoulders as he glared at his father, fangs exposed.

 

“I still won.”

  


* * *

 

 

The month of Jol had passed in a flurry of anticipation, and the morning of  Loki’s nameday was finally upon them. It had been years since Thor had made the journey up north. Bjarke had been in the twilight years of his life even before the war with the dark elves had broken out, and Thor knew he would have to seek another companion soon. The old bear sat in a pile of hay behind Bestla’s inn, gnawing on a bone one of the servants had brought for him and glaring at Thor under his graying brow.

 

“I know you want to come, but a three-day journey is too much for your paw,” Thor said, pointing at the shiny prosthetic attached to Bjarke’s front paw. “And Loki is not as small as he once was. Our combined weight would not be good for your back.”

 

The bear huffed out a low, protesting grunt and turned his back to Thor when he went to open the gate to the dog pen. Bölþorn had brought home a pack of Samoyeds from his travels on Midgard when Thor was still a boy, and he’d bred them with the local hounds to prolong their fleeting life spans. Many of the dogs before him were descended from the pups he had played with as a child, and the dogs greeted him with excited yips and warm licks as he sank to his knees to embrace and pat each and every one of them.

 

He led the dogs out of their pen and began to harness them to the long wooden sled he’d been loading since early morning. He’d padded the cargo bed with soft pelts to make sure Loki would stay warm, for the winds in the tundra were cruel and biting this time of the year. The journey to Holmvík shouldn’t take more than a day, two at most, but Thor had packed enough provisions for a week, for it was unwise to head out to the wilds unprepared.

 

“Are you sure you have enough food with you? You don’t want the Jarl’s son to starve in your company,” Bestla called from the kitchen door, her arms crossed over her flour-stained apron. “I can pack you some more cold cuts and berry juice, perhaps some black honey?”

 

Thor waved her off and continued to fasten the leather buckles around Elva’s furry chest. The dogs were eager to go, bouncing in the powdery snow and ignoring Thor’s orders to stay still. The metal of his prosthetic fingers became stiff in the cold air, the joints barely moving, which added to the challenge of strapping eight excitable hounds to the sled. He was about to tear the harness from his hand in a fit of frustrated anger when he felt a familiar weight settle against his back.

 

“Are we ready to go?” Loki asked, looping his arms around Thor’s shoulders and nosing at his cheek.

 

“Aye, aye, as soon as I finish strapping these damned helhounds to the sled.”

 

Loki took note of the stiffness in Thor’s prosthetics and knelt down next to him, taking the tangled straps from his hand. “Here, I can do that.”

 

Thor slipped his hands back into his hare skin gloves to warm up the joints, his smile thankful as he watched Loki fasten the leather straps around Elva’s chest with nimble fingers.

 

They finished their preparations and bid farewell to Bjarke and Bestla, who’d come to see them off and slip a small pack of additional provisions into Loki’s backpack.

 

“You stay warm now.” She helped Loki to settle into the sled, tucking his feet under a seal skin blanket. “And make sure you don’t pick the first bear that licks your hand and pleads to come home with you. You want one that’s hardy and reliable and doesn’t wander off at the first sniff of fresh salmon.”

 

“Aye, aye,” Loki nodded, “I’ll choose wisely.”

 

Thor kissed his grandmother goodbye and settled his boots on the runners as he took his place at the driving bow behind Loki. He gave the lead dogs a command and the sled nudged forward as the pack broke into a trot, pulling them out of the yard and onto the track that led to the gates.

 

Loki craned his neck to look up at Thor, grinning from ear to ear.

 

“Are you certain your father approved of your choice in guide?” Thor asked.

 

Loki rubbed at his wrist and gave a small nod, his voice muffled by the thick wool of his scarf. “He approved…”

 

With the threat of war now over, the gates of the city remained open and Thor guided their sled out into the vast plateaus of white. The skies were clear for the first time in days and the good weather had drawn people out of the city. There were small hunting parties in pursuit of game, and the nearby lake was full of ice fishers and children sliding on the smooth ice with their bladed boots while their mothers washed piles of laundry in large boiling pots on the banks.

 

The sun hung low in the horizon despite the early hour and Thor kept the dogs running at a steady pace, determined to get as far as possible before nightfall.

 

“We should reach the marshlands of Yngval by midday,” Thor said, leaning down a little so Loki could hear him over the icy winds. “After that, we head further up north and past the old barrows until we arrive at one of the campsites near Járnvið.”

 

Loki craned his neck, his face tight with quiet alarm. “The barrows?”

 

“There’s no need to worry,” Thor smirked. “The draugr only come out after midnight.”

 

“You’d better be pulling my leg…” Loki grumbled, shooting Thor a withering glare from the shadows of his fur-trimmed hood.

 

The dogs kept to their formation and though their pace had begun to slow, they continued to run at Thor’s command until the edge of the Iron Wood finally loomed in the distance. Loki peeked out from behind his furs, his eyes watering from the blast of cold air as the sled zoomed past runty fir trees.

 

“I’ve never been this far to the north.”

 

“You’ve not missed out on anything, for this is an inhospitable place to anyone who does not wish to fight a pack of direwolves for their daily meals,” Thor said.

 

“Do you remember the völva that dwelled here?” Loki asked, craning his neck to look up at Thor.

 

Memories of the old Sorrow-Bringer still lingered in the north, for her dark seiðr had rendered much of the land barren and half-petrified. What little managed to grow in the wasteland was withered and miserable even centuries after her defeat.

 

“Angrboða’s reign of evil happened long before my birth,” Thor said. “This land has been dead for as long as I can remember. No one knows what she did to it and people fear to try and undo it.”

 

Loki shifted under the furs until he was able to meet Thor’s eyes. “There’s a book in Halbard’s personal library at the temple that claims there was once a great source of power in these parts, a yawning whirlpool with waters darker than midnight,” Loki said. “Some claim it was the last remnant of the primordial void of Ginnungagap…”

 

“Perhaps that is what drew the völva into our lands,” Thor hummed, his skin suddenly cold with more than the chill in the air.

 

“She is the reason why my kind is hated and why my practice of seiðr is shunned,” Loki said, his voice clipped and bitter.

 

“Our people fear that which they do not understand,” Thor nodded, well aware of the mistrust magic users like Loki faced in the north.

 

Loki removed his glove and conjured a small flurry of snow into his palm, and innocent trick that barely even hinted at the potential in his blood. “Do _you_ fear me?”

 

Thor reached down and gave Loki’s cheek a fond caress. “Never.”

 

Loki leaned into his touch and closed his hand, the flurry in his palm vanishing into the crisp evening air.

 

The final stretch of their journey was lit by the green ribbons of the aurora, and they arrived at the campsite just as some of the smaller dogs were beginning to tire.

 

“Easy! Whoa, whoa.”

 

The sled came to a full stop at Thor’s command and the air was full of heavy panting as each dog slumped into the snow, their tongues lolling out. Thor stretched his own stiff muscles until he heard a satisfying pop at his neck.

 

The dark curls that framed Loki’s face were white with frost, and the tip of his nose was almost purple as he crawled out of the sled.

 

Thor rubbed his hands along Loki’s arms to get the blood flowing. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

 

Most of the camp was buried under several feet of fresh snow, and Thor had to wade through the knee-high banks to make them a path. He heard a litany of soft curses behind his back, and glancing over his shoulder, he saw Loki was buried all the way up to his hips in the powdery snow as he stumbled on in Thor’s wake.

 

“Come, you can ride on my back.” Thor hunched down and waited for Loki to wrap his fur-clad legs around his hips, smiling when his act of chivalry earned him a warm kiss on the cheek.

 

There was a worn wooden sign sticking out of the snow and Thor gave it a light shove to clear it of snow. The writing on the wood was faded, but Thor could make out directions to a nearby well and a small shed for food and dry wood, built on top of a thick pole to keep wolves and small beasts at bay. Next to the sign stood a wooden hut and further back, amid the spruce trees was a steam small lodge.

 

Thor set Loki down as he tried to figure out where the door of the dwelling was located, for the entire structure was buried under snow. The stillness around them was broken by a high-pitched wolf howl, the sound of it echoing through the petrified woods beyond the camp.

 

Loki peered around, his eyes dubious. “Are we really going to spend the night here?”

 

“I know it’s not as fancy as Bear Keep,” Thor said, finally unearthing the door to the hut. He yanked it open and peered into the darkness inside. “but we’ll be comfortable enough once I get the fire going.” More howls rang in the moon-silvered night and Loki hurried to Thor’s side. “It’s alright, they’re miles away, up in the mountains.” Thor wrapped his arm around Loki’s shoulder and pulled him against his side. “You’re safe with me, I promise.”

 

The air inside the hut was as freezing as it was out underneath the night sky. Thor reached into his satchel for a firestone, but Loki blew into his fist and sent a ball of seiðr-made fire into the rusty narwhal oil lamp that hung by the door. The orb traveled around the dwelling, hopping from lantern to lantern until the entire space was bathed in warm lamp light.

 

“That’s a handy trick,” Thor smiled.

 

The hut had been left in neat order by its previous guests and Thor was glad to see there was a pile of dry firewood by the hearth. Shaped like an octagon, the walls were framed with fur-clad benches and the floor was padded with soft reindeer pelts. The air smelled a little stale from disuse, for people did not travel as much in the winter months, but Thor had spent his nights in far worse places. Someone had hung charms made of antlers above the door to ward of the evil of the nearby Iron Wood and to give each traveler who stayed the night good fortune on their trails.

 

Thor set his pack down and brought his hands up to his lips to warm them with his breaths. “Do you know how to build a fire? I need to see to the dogs and unload the sled.”

 

“Of course I know how to build a fire,” Loki huffed. He removed his mittens and began to pile wood and kindling into the hearth, and Thor left him to his chore.

 

He led the dogs to a small wooden canopy for some well-earned rest and made sure they were fed before heading to the steam lodge, the thought of bathing after their long journey tempting. Far simpler in its rustic design than Utgård’s bathhouses, the interior of the lodge was dominated by a large pile of rocks. At the far back was a small alcove for washing, and Thor spent the next hour boiling several pails of bathing water and tending to the fire he’d lit in the stove under the rocks.

 

When he returned to the hut he was greeted by a mouth-watering scent of freshly roasted meat. Loki sat by the hearth, his lips shiny with grease as he pushed the last of his dinner into his mouth and licked his fingers clean. He’d shed his thick traveling furs, clad only in a light linen vest and his underclothes, his dark hair free of its usual fineries. Thor took a seat on one of the benches and let Loki serve him a plateful of meats and some of Bestla’s berry sauce.

 

Loki burrowed against Thor’s side and began to play with the braided length of his sunspun hair. “How did you know Bjarke was the right companion for you?”

 

“It’s hard to describe,” Thor shrugged. He tore into a crisp piece of meat and washed it down with the mead in his waterskin. “You simply know. If the bear doesn’t find you agreeable, you’re not likely to even mount it.”

 

Loki released his hold around Thor’s hair and glanced up, visibly alarmed. “What if the bear I want doesn’t accept me?”

 

“That can happen,” Thor nodded. “You just have to keep looking until you find your match.”

 

“I believe I’ve already found my match,” Loki smiled, and rested his chin on Thor’s shoulder.

 

Thor exhaled a quiet huff of laughter and pressed his brow against Loki’s. “Come, it’s time for a good steam.”

 

Their breaths evaporated in the cold night air as Thor led Loki to the steam lodge along the path he’d made.

 

“I’ve not been to a steam bath in years,” Loki sighed, breathing in the moist, warm air as Thor ushered him inside.

 

“Aye, they tend to be rare in the noble district, but many common jötnar enjoy a nice sweat after a hard week of labor.”

 

They paused to undress in the small vestibule and Thor felt the weight of curious eyes on him as he pulled his tunic over his head. He left his clothes and harness on the small shelves someone had built into the wall and glanced over his shoulder, his eyes downcast.

 

“May I turn?”

 

“Uh… Give me a moment,” Loki gasped. There was a quiet rustle of fabric behind him and Thor waited patiently for Loki to be ready, until finally, he felt a tentative touch of fingers on his forearm.

 

“Alright, you can look now.”

 

A small draft sent the lone candle on the wall fluttering and Thor watched the shadows around them dance on Loki’s naked skin as he turned around to face him. Shoulders drawn and hands balled at his sides, Loki peered at him from under his brows, his eyes vulnerable. Thor was no stranger to nudity, for the public bathhouses in the city had no room for modesty, but things were not so free among the nobles, and Loki had no doubt taken all his baths in private.

 

Thor trailed his fingers along the length of Loki’s tattooed arms and pulled him in for a kiss. “You’re so lovely.”

 

Where most jötnar were large and sturdy, Loki was lean like a doe, his dual nature visible in the narrow line of his shoulders and the subtle curve of his hips. The air of tension between them vanished and Loki reached out to mirror Thor’s touch, trailing his fingers down the muscled planes of his stomach with open curiosity.

 

“I’ve never seen these before,” he said, his fingers mapping the many inked designs on Thor’s torso; abstract patterns and ancient symbols of their people. He circled around to Thor’s backside and pressed his palms to his shoulder blades. “Are these ravens?”

 

“Aye, I used to see them often in my youth, watching me as I played with the other children outside the city gates, or when I was out hunting and exploring. I don’t know where they came from, but I was kept from harm’s way many a time by their vigilance.”

 

“Do they still watch you?”

 

“I believe I last saw them on the battlefields,” Thor said, his voice falling quiet.

 

Loki appeared to sense the shift in his mood and he circled back around to face him, his tongue peeking out between pearly teeth as his gaze fell to the large inked serpent that circled Thor’s navel and slithered lower still. “Never seen this one either,” Loki grinned, following the path of his gaze with his hand.

 

“Aye, I know you haven’t,” Thor laughed. He caught Loki’s wrist in a gentle grip just as his fingers touched the trail of fur above his groin. “And I also know I’ll not be able to bathe if you go any lower…”

 

Loki flashed him a lecherous little smile, his gaze still lingering between Thor’s thighs, but he withdrew his hands and followed Thor into the steam room.

 

The pile of stones on the stove glowed red with the heat they had collected from the fire below, and Thor reached for the wooden pail to toss a ladle of water onto their hot surface. They released a loud hiss as the water boiled and bubbled in the crevices and the air filled with moist steam.

 

Thor urged Loki to take a seat on a thick log by the stove, the tension in their travel-worn bodies releasing as plumes of heat caressed their skin. Loki rested his cheek on his knee and traced the droplets of sweat that rolled down Thor’s bicep with the dark tip of his nail.

 

“I’m glad you came with me,” he said with a content little sigh, the small braids in his hair unraveling against his back.

 

“As am I,” Thor hummed. He reached for the ladle to throw more water on the stove and began to undo his own braid for washing. “Would you like me to bathe you?”

 

Loki nodded and took a seat on the small bench in the alcove. He tilted his head back as Thor poured heated water over him to wet his long hair, blinking against the small droplets that clung to his lashes. There was a jar of honeywash and a bar of narwhal soap on the shelf someone had carved into the thick wood of the wall, and the air became sweet with the scent of summer as Thor scooped some of the creamy contents of the jar on his fingers.

 

Loki’s body went lax with pleasure, his head tilting with the movement of Thor’s fingers as he began to massage his scalp, paying extra attention to the roots of his horns where the skin was most sensitive to touch. He rinsed the suds with another pail of warm water and began to soap Loki’s body.

 

“Thor…” Loki sighed, his eyes slipping closed as his head lolled on his shoulders. “That feels divine.”

 

Thor smirked and slid his hands lower, the muscles in Loki’s belly jumping under his palm as his legs fell open in a wordless plea. The sway of his prick caught Thor’s eye and he watched as the tip, light purple in color, pushed out from the soft fold of skin as Loki grew hard.

 

“Shall I touch you?”

 

“Yes… Please.”

 

“Here?” Thor whispered, his lips ghosting against Loki’s ear as he cupped his arousal in a loose grip, the slender length of it slick with soap.

 

Loki trapped Thor’s hand between his thighs and rocked up into his fist with small, greedy thrusts. “Yes, _there_.”

 

Thor knew there was more to explore, but the quim below, still untouched, would require special attention and he focused his caresses on Loki’s prick. The quiet gasps that spilled from Loki’s lips lit a low fire in Thor’s own belly, his cock half-hard between his thighs, but he kept his focus on Loki’s pleasure, for he knew that once he spilled it would take a while to recover.

 

He kept his strokes light and slow, but Loki spurted into his fist a mere moment later, the hot trail of his seed rolling down Thor’s knuckles.

 

“Oh!” Loki continued to buck into Thor’s fist, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths. “I didn’t mean to… not so fast,” he sighed, resting his head against Thor’s chest.

 

Thor smiled and nuzzled at the root of Loki’s right horn. “You are young still.” He poured another bucket of water on Loki to rinse him clean and they switched places as Thor began to wash himself with Loki’s assistance.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The flames in the hearth had diminished when they returned from their bath, but the embers still glowed with heat and Loki brought them back to life with a simple spell. He sat down on the pelts and produced a small whale bone comb from his backpack and began to run the thin teeth through his damp hair. Thor rummaged through his own satchel for the surprise he’d prepared for Loki’s nameday.

 

“What’s this?” Loki grinned when Thor presented him with a roll of vellum.

 

“Happy nameday.” Thor cupped Loki’s cheek and pulled him in for a kiss. “Go on, open it.”

 

Loki tore at the thin leather rope tied around the roll, but his excitement gave way to confusion when he finally saw what was inside. “It’s a drawing…” He glanced up, brows furrowed. “A drawing of a bear?”

 

Thor tapped his finger on the illustration he had sketched into the vellum. “It’s a drawing of _your_ bear and its shiny new panser,” he corrected. “I could not bring it with us, but it’s waiting for you and your new companion in my armory.”

 

Loki’s eyes lit up as he studied all the little details Thor had sketched on the vellum. “Oh, Thor!”

 

“I’m afraid my illustration does it no justice, but it is made of something called jade that can only be found in the far reaches of Midgard.”

 

“It’s beautiful,” Loki sighed. “Thank you.” He dropped the drawing from his hands and rushed into Thor’s arms, peppering his face with kisses until they went tumbling down on the furs.

 

It did not take long before the playful pecks had turned to heated kisses, their tunics removed and forgotten in the shadows. Thor laid Loki out on the furs by the fire and ran his fingers along the soft valleys and sinuous curves of his body.

 

His skin was smooth and unblemished save for the burst of white freckles on his shoulders. Thor brushed his thumb over the dark peak of Loki’s nipple, the soft, small mound of his chest just begging for a fondle. He leaned down to give his nipple a quick suckle, teasing it into a hard nub with his tongue and teeth. Loki cried out, overwhelmed by the sensation, and Thor withdrew when he felt a light tug of fingers in his hair.

 

Loki lay panting on the furs, the skin around his chest glistening wetly in the warm firelight. He watched Thor with hooded eyes, his gaze flicking to Thor’s cock where it had begun to swell and harden against the crease of his thigh.

 

“You can touch it if you like,” Thor nodded when he saw Loki watching.

 

Loki sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he reached out to wrap his fingers around the thick girth of the shaft. “I can feel you grow,” he gasped, eyes glazed and mouth parted in excited awe. “Does my hand feel good?”

 

Thor’s nostrils flared at the light scrape of nails along his swelling length. “Aye, Loki, it does.”

 

Emboldened by his words, Loki gave Thor a tentative stroke, his grip still much too gentle, but Thor allowed him to take his time as he continued his slow exploration. He appeared especially curious of Thor’s heavy sack, hefting its weight in his palm.

 

“I don’t have—“ Loki closed his mouth, suddenly embarrassed.

 

“We differ in some places, yes,” Thor nodded. He squeezed the soft flesh of Loki’s inner thigh and gave his legs a gentle nudge. “Can you part these for me? I wish to see all of you tonight.”

 

Loki withdrew his hand and buried his fingers in the coarse reindeer pelt. Thor caught the brief flash of hesitation in his eyes before he had a chance to look away and he ran his knuckles down the length of Loki’s thigh, slipping his hand in the crease of his knee. “It’s alright.”

 

Loki’s grip on the furs loosened and Thor watched as his thighs fell slowly to the sides. The bright firelight hid nothing, and Thor saw the plump mound of his sex was almost completely smooth and a lovely shade of blue, slightly different from the rest of his body.

 

He gave the length of Loki’s prick a few pumps before moving his caresses lower. “Have you ever touched yourself here?” Thor asked, watching the minute tremble in Loki’s thighs as he traced his fingers over his folds.

 

Loki shook his head, the dark flush that rose to his cheeks making his freckles more pronounced. “Not properly, for I… I wanted you to be the first.”

 

Thor laid a trail of reverent kisses on Loki’s chest and knelt between his parted thighs, arranging his lower body into his lap until Loki’s legs rested firmly against his hips. He pressed his hand against the mount of his cunt and traced a finger along the seam in the middle. “And can I touch you now? Inside?”

 

Loki watched him under the shadow of his dark lashes and canted his hips up. “Yes…”

 

Thor pressed a kiss to both of Loki’s knees and reached down to part his soft folds. He’d lain with many maidens over the centuries, but he’d never bedded someone as inexperienced or young as Loki, and brushing his finger against the tender flesh of his maidenhead, it became obvious he would require a great deal of preparation.

 

Loki watched him with nervous eyes, his toes curling and tapping against the furs. “Is everything alright? Do you find me… pleasing?”

 

“Of course I do.” Thor gave Loki’s thigh a reassuring squeeze. “But I fear my girth might hurt you.” He slicked his finger in the wetness that seeped from Loki’s cunt, careful not to dip inside just yet. “Will you let me claim you with my fingers first?”

 

Loki licked his lips, his feet still fidgeting against the furs. “Alright.”

 

Thor took great care to be gentle as he pressed the tip of his finger against the untouched opening, but Loki still recoiled as the tender seal of skin broke around the girth of Thor’s digit. He reached up to lay his other hand against Loki’s lower belly and brushed the stumps of his fingers over the tense muscles. “It’s alright, it’ll feel good soon, I promise.”

 

Loki exhaled a stuttery sigh, the tension in his body fading as he began to relax and the pain subsided.

 

“You’re so soft inside,” Thor smiled. He slid his finger in and out in tentative, shallow thrusts. “Soft and warm.”

 

The knowledge that he was the first to touch Loki in this manner made his blood heat up with something that had little to do with arousal. He knew he had held Loki’s heart for a long time, and now the boy was gifting him the pleasure of his body.

 

Thor could not get a proper grip without his harness and he urged Loki to touch himself, smiling when he saw his flagging arousal begin to harden once more from his own caresses.

 

“That’s it.” He held up two fingers to allow Loki to see their combined size. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

 

Loki’s brow drew into a furrow, but the ache passed soon enough and Thor began a gentle rhythm with his fingers, fucking Loki slow and good. His own cock was hard against his stomach, a steady stream of pre-spend rolling down the thick shaft and pooling in the crease of his thigh, but he enjoyed the sweet build-up and the exploration of Loki’s body.

 

He pulled his fingers out and locked eyes with Loki as he brought them up to his lips, a deep growl rising from his chest when the taste of his dew exploded on his tongue. Loki stared, wide-eyed, his cunt clenching around nothing. Thor slid back inside and angled his hand to press his thumb against the small bundle of nerves where the folds joined.

 

Loki clamped his thighs against Thor’s hips and arched off the furs, startled at the new, more intense form of pleasure. “What…?”

 

“Feels good?” Thor circled the sensitive nub, teasing more gasps from Loki.

 

“I-ah- yes!” Loki pressed his knees against Thor’s flanks and rocked into the seat of his hand, his slick running down Thor’s knuckles as he squeezed his hand around his slender prick, too overwhelmed to even stroke it.

 

“I think I’m going to spill again…!” The words were barely out when a thick glob of seed squirted out onto his thumb where it was pressed against the purple tip of his cock. It was followed by three more spurts, so heavy that they rolled down the fine bones of his wrist. Loki sagged against the furs, but his rest was brief and his eyes grew wide with surprise as his pleasure began to crest anew. Thor, too, felt it in the way the walls around his fingers tightened. Loki clamped his legs against Thor’s sides and reached down between his thighs. He shook his head and tugged on Thor’s wrist. “No, don’t- I feel like I’m going to-”

 

Thor’s mouth curved up as he realized what was about to happen. He crooked his fingers and kept his thrusts short but firm as he continued to fuck Loki towards his second release. “It’s alright, just let go, let it happen.”

 

Loki threw his head back and his chest heaved up as he released a gush of wetness against Thor’s hand. His thighs trembled and his toes curled against Thor’s calves as his entire body seized up. Thor hurried to wrap his arm around Loki’s waist to hold him in his lap as he continued to writhe, throbbing against Thor’s palm. There was another wet gush, trickling through the seams of Thor’s fingers and seeping into the pelts below them.

 

“It’s too much,” Loki wailed, and Thor finally withdrew his fingers.

 

He lifted Loki up and sat him on his lap, his small body still trembling from the intensity of his release as Thor took hold of his own arousal and pressed it against the slick folds of Loki’s cunt. He’d been hard for so long now and the temptation to simply thrust into Loki’s body, still only half claimed, was almost overwhelming, but Thor held back and contented on rubbing himself over the plump mound.

 

He brushed the mass of Loki’s sweet-smelling hair aside to mouth at the slender curve of his neck as he stroked himself. Loki remained a limp weight against his chest, but his hips were coming alive again, and he began to grind down against Thor’s arousal. “Are you going to spill?”

 

“Yes,” Thor nodded, his voice winded as he continued to slide his cock through Loki’s slick. His breath caught in his throat when Loki reached between them and without warning, aimed the head of Thor’s prick against his opening. An inch of the head sank inside, the hint of penetration enough to send Thor toppling over the edge.

 

He struggled to keep his hips still as he began to spill, his seed shooting against Loki’s folds. “Norns, Loki…” He rested his head on Loki’s shoulder, his cock still pulsing out the last of its seed between them.

 

“I wish I could have felt you spill inside me,” Loki sighed, nosing at Thor’s horns.

 

His face was flushed a lovely shade of purple as Thor laid him down on the furs, his cheeks dimpling with a content little smile. Thor caught a bead of sweat with his thumb as it rolled down the side of Loki’s nose. “You alright?”

 

“Mmm,” Loki hummed. He arched his brows as he eyed the traces of their lovemaking all around them. “Though I fear we may have to burn these pelts come morning…”

 

The fire in the hearth crackled and hissed as the logs spat out small red sparks into the air. Thor’s limbs felt heavy with sleep, his muscles relaxed from the bath and his release. He’d almost drifted to sleep when he felt Loki fidget against his side. He poked Thor’s calves with his toes until Thor finally opened his eyes.

 

“Can we do that again?” Loki grinned.

 

“Of course,” Thor nodded. He settled one arm behind his neck, nearing the edge of sleep again when a sudden jab against his ribs pulled him back.

 

“Well?” Loki stared up at him with impatient eyes.

 

“You mean, _right now_?” Thor sputtered.

 

Loki shot him a confused look. “Well, yes?”

 

Thor let out a low chuckle and pulled Loki against his flank. “I’m afraid the eight hundred centuries between us put me at a slight disadvantage, no matter how much I desire you, Loki.”

 

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback <333 Next chapter: Loki gets a bear of his own :)


	6. Chapter 6

_**Bonds** _

 

They harnessed the dogs and departed from the campsite before sunrise. Loki ate his breakfast of dried seal meat in the sled, the skyline in the east aglow with the light of the coming day. He was eager to reach Holmvík and Thor had promised they would arrive before midday, provided that the skies stayed clear and there was no snowfall to slow them down.

 

Each region had its own bear breeders, but none were as hardy as the panserbjørne bred in the north. The bears dwelled inside a vast network of caves, and the main entrance alone was a sight to behold as it came into view, framed by two enormous bears cut into the mountainside, their stony claws raised in what could either be a welcome or a warning.

 

Loki stared with his mouth agape as their sled raced towards the ancient breeding grounds and the small hamlet that had grown around it.

 

“Here we are,” Thor announced. He steered the dogs through the village square and the sled came to a halt in front of the inn. Thick icicles hung from its ornate eaves and Loki could barely make out the windows through the layer of frost that covered the glass. Above the door hung a wooden sign, but the name of the establishment had long since faded away, only a few painted letters remaining.

 

The owner came out through a side door, greeting Thor with a subdued nod. He whistled through his fingers and a youth of Loki’s age appeared at his side to untie the dogs and lead the pack to a pen further back.

 

Loki threw the furs aside and scrambled up to his feet, starting towards the caves the moment the stiffness in his limbs allowed him to move.

 

“Wait, wait,” Thor laughed, grabbing a hold of Loki’s fur-trimmed hood. “I know you are eager to see the bears, but let me get us a room first. We can go as soon as I’ve brought our things inside.”

 

Loki let out a frustrated groan and eyed the mouth of the cave where it yawned like a black maw just outside of the village gates. “Fine…”

 

He decided to look around as Thor went inside to book their dwelling for the night. The place was more like a small trading post than a proper village, consisting of the old inn and humble lodgings that must have belonged to the bear handlers. He wandered off to a small stall where an elderly woman sat in a fur-padded chair, her chapped lips wrapped around a wooden pipe. Before her was an assortment of clay bears and brightly colored handicrafts. She blew out a cloud of smoke, her deep set eyes gleaming hopefully as Loki came closer and picked up one of the ornaments.

 

The sculpture looked more like a pig than a bear, but Loki suspected he was the first customer to wander to her stall in weeks and he reached into his satchel to pull out his coin pouch. The woman’s sparsely-toothed mouth split into a broad grin and she thanked him for his purchase, squeezing his fingers with her brittle little hands.

 

“That was a kind thing to do,” Thor smiled as Loki slipped the bear into his satchel.

 

“I hope you still feel that way when I gift it to you on Julblot,” Loki chuckled.

 

He followed Thor out of the village, his earlier excitement somewhat tempered as they approached the massive stone bears that guarded the entrance. He craned his neck to gaze up at them, the hair on his neck standing on end when he stepped under one of the outstretched stone paws. At the mouth of the cave stood a small hut, a trail of smoke billowing from the crumbling chimney. Thor gave the door a polite knock and they were greeted by one of the handlers a moment later.

 

“Ah, you must be Loki. Your father sent a raven a few days ago, told us of your arrival.” The man shook their hands and introduced himself as Svarang, the local dialect and the cadence of his words strange in Loki’s ears. “Come, come, young master, let us meet the bears.”

 

The air inside the cave was dank and musty, the sound of dripping water echoing all around them. The ceiling above their heads was covered in stalactite and small crystals that emanated with dim seiðr, but here and there a spot of natural light flowed in through a hole in the stone.

 

“Do the bears roam free in here?” Loki asked, and he grabbed hold of Thor’s hand when he saw a large white bear shamble towards them.

 

“Aye, this is their home until they are picked for companionship.” Svarang greeted the bear with a rub on its muzzle and the beast let out a low grunt, leaning into his touch. “There’s no need to be afraid, little master,” Svarang smiled, “our bears have been raised to be loyal from birth. They will not harm you.”

 

“Go on, give him a scratch,” Thor urged, shoving Loki towards the massive bear. “See if he likes you.”

 

Loki removed his mittens and approached the animal slowly, careful to keep his nerves in check.

 

“This one is called Knute. He is one of our largest bears, but he is yet to find a companion,” Svarang said as Loki gave Knute’s muzzle a tentative pat.

 

Both his brothers had massive companions, but Knute was even larger, and Loki could picture the impressed reactions he’d garner should he ride home with a creature as majestic as the one before him. He moved a little closer and reached up to scratch behind Knute’s ear, but the bear turned his head away and let out a disinterested snort before turning his back on Loki and slouching off to where he’d come from.

 

Loki’s face fell as he watched the bear’s retreating back, the sting of rejection impossible to ignore. “He didn’t want me…”

 

Thor pulled him against his side and gave Loki’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Few people find their companion on the first try. Come on, let’s keep looking.”

 

Svarang led them deeper into the caves and Loki noticed many young cubs still clung to their mothers. He kept his distance from them, for he did not have the heart to separate the younglings from their dam. Some of the bears regarded him with obvious disinterest while others greeted him with eager curiosity and they came out of their dens to meet him.

 

“I think you might have an admirer,” Thor laughed, for one of the bears appeared to have taken such a shine to Loki that it had begun to follow them down the hallway.

 

Loki paused to greet the bear, his eyes hopeful. He scratched the bear’s ears, laughing when the beast began to nose at him, but his hopes were crushed the moment he realized the bear was not interested in him but the delicious seal jerky hidden in his satchel. It began to tug on his bag and Svarang rushed in to shoo it away.

 

The bear trotted off into one of the passages, and Loki gave the ground at his feet a frustrated kick. “This is hopeless! None of these beasts like me.” He pushed himself into Thor’s arms and buried his face in his wolf skin coat, ready to give up.

 

Thor wrapped his hand around his neck, the metal of his prosthetic fingers cool against Loki’s skin. “You know that is not true.” He planted a kiss between Loki’s horns and urged him to follow after Svarang, who had disappeared into one of the nearby tunnels to give them some privacy. “One of these bears is meant for you, you’ll just have to keep looking.”

 

They spent most of the afternoon in the bear caves and Loki’s mood continued to plummet as the day wore on. Svarang had led them to one of the few remaining dens by a large underground lake, and Loki tried to brace himself for another rejection.

 

He followed Svarang to a small indent in the cave wall, full of hay and dry leaves. “They are from the same litter. Left their mother only a few moons ago. She is great at catching fish and I believe the same will be true for her cubs.”

 

In the pile of hay sat two young bears, both of them male, and Loki could tell they would grow to be big and strong like the bears Helblindi and Byleistr had chosen for their companions. He took a tentative step forward and once inside the den, he noticed that behind the two brothers sat a third bear. Smaller than her brothers, she watched Loki with coal-black eyes, the look in them a little reserved. The two boys attempted to sniff at him, but Loki ignored them and pushed past their furry flanks to get to their sister.

 

“Hello, you,” he smiled, voice soft as not to startle her. He reached out and placed his hand gingerly on her soft cheek, ready to pull back in case she, too, rejected him.

 

The bear watched him for a while longer, and Loki’s mouth split into a relieved grin when she finally leaned into his touch, inviting him to scratch behind her ear. Loki glanced over his shoulder at Thor, who stood further back with Svarang, a congratulatory smirk on his lips as he watched their tentative bonding.

 

“What’s her name?”

 

“She is called Hedda,” Svarang said, ushering her brothers away to give Loki some privacy. “She’s a little small for her age, but she is big enough to ride. Her regular handler thinks she’s been a bit lonely after leaving her mother.”

 

The bear nuzzled at Loki’s cheek and gave it a small lick with her warm tongue. “Hello, Hedda,” he smiled. He ruffled the soft fur at her nape and pressed his cheek against hers. “Would you be mine?”

 

“She appears quite taken with you,” Svarang observed. “Would you like to try and mount her?”

 

Loki hesitated, for all his attempts at mounting had been unsuccessful. Most times the bears had simply refused to move, but he’d also been thrown off a few times and his bottom still smarted after his last failure. He glanced to Thor who gave him an encouraging nod.

 

“Well, alright.” Loki gave Hedda’s flank a gentle pat. “Please don’t throw me off…” he whispered with a pleading look.

 

Svarang appeared at his side and placed his hands down to help Loki to hoist himself up to Hedda’s back. She gave a little jolt and Loki prepared himself for the worst, but the bear settled down after the initial shock of being mounted had passed. Loki gave her side a tentative kick and held his breath, and when it became obvious that he would not be thrown off, he relaxed and reached down to scratch behind Hedda’s ear. She gave a pleased little cry and carried him out of the indent to go and lap at the clear water in the lake.

 

Thor appeared at Loki’s side and wrapped his arms around his hips to lift him down. “She’s the one?” he smiled, brows raised in question.

 

“Aye, she’s the one,” Loki nodded, his eyes welling up with joy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The bears were taken to a special pen on the night before their departure to give them time to adjust and to allow them to get to know their new masters. Loki spent most of the evening at Hedda’s side, brushing her fur and telling her of her new home in Utgård. She’d remained somewhat reserved throughout their first meeting, but once she was out of the caves and out of her brothers’ shadow, she became more curious about Loki and the outside world.

 

Bears as young as her had not left the safety of the caves very often, but Loki was determined to help her adjust. “I will look after you, always.” He wrapped his arms around Hedda’s scruffy neck and fed her pellets of dried meat and preserved apples from the sack Svarang had left for them.

 

Thor had returned to the inn, wanting to give Loki some time to form the first threads of his lifelong bond with Hedda. Loki was barely aware of the passage of time and he didn’t notice the lateness of the hour until Thor finally appeared at the gates of their little pen.

 

“Loki, it’s time for supper,” Thor said, peering inside. “The innkeeper and his grandson have prepared us a small meal.” Loki shot him a pleading look from the pile of hay, reluctant to go. “Come, you can see her again tomorrow. There’s a blizzard rolling this way from the Veil in the west, it’ll get here soon and I don’t want you to wander off in the storm.”

 

Loki bid Hedda goodnight and followed Thor back to the inn. The dogs were agitated in their pen, jumping against the fence and whining and barking at the approaching storm. It began to snow soon after and the icy western winds picked up speed, howling under the threshold and rattling the shuttered windows as they sat down to eat.

 

Loki eyed their surroundings as the boy who’d tended to their dogs served him his supper, his expression pinched. Compared to the comforts of the Sleeping Narwhal, the inn at Holmvík was like a cheap alehouse, for there were no private rooms, only a row of sleeping alcoves that lined the walls in the main hall. Old, dusty tapestries and animal skins hung on the walls and over chairs and benches, and the antlers in the massive light fixture above their heads were covered with a decade’s worth of dust.

 

“It’s a bit rustic, aye,” Thor agreed when he caught the unimpressed look on Loki’s face. “Places like these don’t get a lot of visitors, and the locals are equally few in number.” And true enough, there was only one other guest at the inn, snoring loudly in one of the alcoves, his massive, bare feet sticking out through the open shutters. Thor took a deep pull from his tankard and urged Loki to eat his meal. “We’ll be heading home soon enough.”

 

“At first light?” Loki grumbled, the question only half in jest as he picked through the large bones of the poorly cooked fish on his plate.

 

Thor hid his laughter in his tankard as the old man who ran the place hobbled over on his peg leg to inquire if they would require anything else. He thanked him for the food and bid the man and the boy a good night as they withdrew to the private lodgings in the upper floors of the building.

 

Loki watched the boy help the old man up the stairs and he felt a jab of guilt in his heart, well aware of the many privileges his own life was blessed with. He lost the scowl that had settled on his brow and dug into his meal, choosing to ignore the stale flavor of the fish as he emptied his plate.

 

“I’ll go and check on the dogs before we head to bed, make sure they’re not frightened of the storm. I’ll only be a moment,” Thor said, and Loki watched him disappear into the blizzard outside, the blast of cold from the door blowing out some of the candles in the room.

 

Loki pushed his plate aside and got up to remove his furs, but glancing at the snoring traveler on the opposite side of the room, he decided to leave his tunic on. He climbed into the alcove and settled himself under the coarse linens, fiddling with the bracelet where it rested against the bones of his wrist as he waited for Thor to come back and warm him up.

 

His toes were numb from the chill in the room and the supper sat a bit ill in his stomach, but Loki could not help but smile, for his heart was warm and content. He finally had a companion in not only Hedda but in Thor, who made him feel cherished and loved in ways his own family had failed to do since his very birth. He’d never been a devout believer in the elder gods and pre-designed destinies, but he sent a thought of gratitude to the Norns for weaving his threads together with Thor’s.

 

Thor returned a moment later, stumbling in through the door and slamming his weight against it to keep it from blowing open as he turned the bolt in the lock. His beard and lashes were covered in a thick layer of frost and he shook himself like a large dog, a flurry of wet flakes falling from his clothes.

 

“It’s freezing out there,” Thor panted, shrugging his heavy coat off his shoulders as he hurried to their alcove where Loki lay waiting. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and began to pry his wet boots off his feet. “I can barely feel my toes…”

 

“And here I was hoping you’d warm me up,” Loki huffed with a playful roll of his eyes. The wind wailed behind the old logs of the wall, and the whole building seemed to shake in the onslaught of strong gusts. Loki rose up from the sheets and sidled closer to Thor, his shoulders tense as he watched the fixture of antlers swing in an invisible draft above the long table. “I’ve never seen a storm like this…”

 

“The ones that rise from the Veil are always the worst, but they tend to lose their bite before they reach Utgård as they roll up the mountain range.”

 

Loki saw Thor begin to unbuckle his harness, the joints of his prosthetics frozen into a crooked fist. “Do you need help with that?”

 

Thor offered his hand to Loki, a small, fond smile playing about the corners of his mouth. “Thank you.”

 

Loki unbuckled the leather straps around Thor’s wrist and, one by one, straightened and removed the digits from each stump. “Do they ache?” he asked, taking note of the slight swelling, the skin flushed to a darker shade of blue than the rest of Thor’s hand.

 

“Aye, the cold does not agree with them.”

 

Loki gave Thor’s knuckles a gentle rub and brought them to his lips, kissing each digit as he made room for him on the bed. It was a tight fit, the wide breadth of Thor’s shoulders taking more than half of the space while the heels of his feet knocked against the wall.

 

“Did they build these for dwarves?” Thor grumbled as he shifted around in search of a good position.

 

Loki reached over Thor’s hunched form to close the wooden hatches for some privacy and lit a fire in the small sconce attached to the alcove wall, the glass so black with soot the light barely filtered through.

 

“I’m still cold…” Loki whined softly, his intentions clear in his playful tone. He threw his leg over Thor’s hip and took his hand in his own, guiding it down and grinning at the quiet grunt next to him when Thor realized he had left his smallclothes outside. He pressed Thor’s hand between his thighs, trapping it in place as he rocked down against his fingers, his eyes expectant.

 

“Well, I might have a cure for that,” Thor smirked. “That is, if you’re not too sore…”

 

“I'm not.” Loki angled his hips against Thor’s hand and exhaled a sharp gasp as one of his thick fingers slipped into the seam of his folds. “I want you to truly claim me.”

 

His words set a fire in Thor’s eyes that Loki had not seen before.

 

“Do you now?”

 

Thor lifted him up until Loki was straddling his lap and reached between them to lift the hem of his tunic. Loki bit his knuckles to stifle the cry that threatened to slip past his lips as he watched Thor wet his fingers in his mouth. He squeezed his tunic against his chest as Thor splayed one large hand over his belly while the other one sought out his cunt.

 

“Oh…” Loki’s mouth fell open and he let out a small keening sound when he felt Thor part his folds and press two blunt fingers against his opening.

 

Thor watched him with lust-darkened eyes, his face cast in shadow in the dim lamp light. He was hard inside his smallclothes, the stiff length of his cock straining against Loki’s inner thigh.

 

“Tell me if it hurts,” Thor said, but the ache Loki had felt last night did not reappear even as he was breached.

 

His cock stood hard between his thighs, bobbing against his belly as Thor’s fingers plunged into his passage, but he kept his hands squeezed around his tunic, not wanting to rush his release.

 

“You’re so wet for me,” Thor whispered, the hoarse edge in his voice exposing his desire. He withdrew his fingers to hold his hand before their eyes and Loki flushed at the way his knuckles glistened in the dim lamplight. “Almost ready to take me.”

 

He pulled Loki down for a kiss and reached into his smallclothes, breathing out a relieved groan as he drew himself out. He took hold of his prick and rubbed the thick length against Loki’s folds to slick himself up, the blunt head catching on the rim of his opening with every upward stroke.

 

Loki glanced down and he felt the arousal in his belly transform. In its place was suddenly a burst of nervous butterflies, the sight of Thor’s prick between his slender thighs a little intimidating. Thor seemed to sense his apprehension. He cupped Loki’s jaw with his injured hand and pulled him down for a kiss, mouthing at his lips until the tension in Loki’s shoulders faded.

 

“Alright, are you ready?”

 

“I am,” Loki gasped against Thor’s lips. “ _I am_.”

 

Thor adjusted his grip on Loki’s hip, the eyes never straying from his face as he began to guide himself inside. For a moment, it felt as if the pressure would never ease, that Thor was simply too big for him, and Loki let out a surprised cry when he finally slipped inside. The familiar ache returned, and though it was not as intense as it had been when Thor first breached him with his fingers, Loki could not keep himself from tensing up. He pulled away from the cradle of Thor’s arms and sat up in his lap, his hands like claws where they were clutched around Thor’s tunic.

 

“Thor…!”

 

“Relax,” Thor gasped, his brows pinching as Loki tightened around him, “just relax.” He held as still as possible, allowing Loki to catch his breath, his own chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths, until little by little, Loki began to relax. Thor gazed up at him, his brow prickling with sweat, a quiet question in his eyes.

 

Loki drew in a deep inhale and forced the tension in his muscles to disappear, his movements still a bit ginger as he allowed his body to move on the girth inside him. The stretch was still almost overwhelming, but the pain of it had lessened, allowing the familiar lick of arousal to rekindle in his belly.

 

“Alright… you may move.”

 

Thor began to thrust deeper, feeding his girth into Loki inch by slow inch. With the burn of the penetration gone, Loki marveled at the strange and novel sensation of being filled as Thor finally bottomed out, their bodies joined like never before.

 

“I’m so full,” Loki gasped, his mind reeling as he blinked down at Thor. They both turned their eyes to where they were joined and Loki couldn’t help but reach down and touch as Thor began to move, pulling out slowly only to thrust back inside. “Do I feel good?”

 

Thor gave a breathless laugh, a bead of sweat rolling down his brow and disappearing into his hairline. “You have no idea…”

 

The air in the alcove had grown warm, the storm that raged outside unable to reach them in their private little cocoon. Thor pulled Loki back into his arms, his gentle kisses in contrast with the deep, powerful rhythm of his thrusts. Loki’s entire body thrummed with the pleasure of their coupling, but greater still was the content burst of warmth he felt in his heart. He cupped Thor’s face and leaned down to nose at his cheek, the familiar smell of his workshop that clung to him wherever he went fading under musk and clean sweat.

 

“Loki…” Thor said, the word a throaty whisper as he traced the swirls of white ink on Loki’s cheekbones, the love in his eyes finding an echo in Loki’s heart. “May I spill inside you?” Thor breathed.

 

“Yes, I want it,” Loki gasped without hesitation; mating season still moons away.

 

Thor laced their fingers together and pressed his lips to Loki’s wrist. He gave a few more powerful thrusts before the muscles in his thighs seized up, and his body went completely still. He exhaled a low grunt as his seed shot deep inside Loki’s body, their claim on each other complete.

 

Loki bumped the root of his horn against Thor’s cheek and flicked his tongue out to taste the salt in the hollow of his throat. “You’re mine now,” he smiled.

 

“As you are mine,” came Thor’s content reply.

 

Almost soft now, Thor pulled out, but his eyes remained dark with want. “I’m going to clean you now.”

 

Loki thought he meant to fetch a wet rag, and he was puzzled when Thor urged him to climb up and settle over his face.

 

“What are you-” Heat flared in his cheeks when Loki felt a slick trail of seed on his inner thigh, Thor’s intention suddenly clear.

 

“Come, lower yourself down,” Thor urged. His tongue flicked out as he took hold of Loki’s hands and guided them between his thigh. “Hold yourself open for me.”

 

“Thor…”

 

Loki threw his head back, his eyes slipping closed as Thor buried his face in his folds and began to lick him clean, the wet sounds from his tongue somehow lewder than those from their coupling. Loki winced at the initial sting of Thor’s thick bristles against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, but he found it only added to his pleasure and he began to press down, undulating his hips as Thor continued to taste him.

 

Loki found himself close to release, the pressure of it mounting with each lave and lick of Thor’s tongue. He buried his nails into the worn wood of the alcove walls and his back bent like a bow as he thrust down, rocking himself against Thor’s mouth as his prick went off between the folds of his tunic. His thighs trembled and pressed against Thor’s face and he gasped when he felt Thor slip his fingers inside him once more.

 

Loki was seized up by another wave of pleasure. “Thor, wait…!” He covered his face with his hands as he felt himself release into Thor’s mouth, his cunt throbbing in time with the sweet pulses of his release.

 

The sheer intensity of it rendered Loki into a trembling mess, and Thor settled him down on the furs. Loki could hear Thor was out of breath and he felt his shame deepen as he saw the way his face glistened in the dim lamplight.

 

“I’m sorry, I-I couldn’t help it, I…”

 

“Hey, hey, there’s no need to apologize,” Thor said softly, and Loki watched as he flicked his tongue out to lick at the drops that still clung to his lips. “I could feast on you for hours.”

 

They enjoyed a comfortable moment of silence as they caught their breaths and basked in the afterglow of their pleasure, Thor’s fingers tracing idle patterns on Loki’s arm as Loki fiddled with the bracelet around his wrist.

 

“I don’t want to go back…”

 

“What? You’d rather stay here?” Thor chuckled, his fingers on Loki’s arm stilling as he turned his face down to look at him. “I thought you wanted to leave at first light.”

 

Loki gave Thor’s shin a light kick. “Not _here_ , obviously.” He sat up, hair a tangled mess and one of the golden hoops around his horn threatening to slip off. “There are nine whole realms! Have you never felt the urge to explore them? See the worlds beyond our borders, beyond the walls of Utgård?” He crossed his arms over his chest and exhaled a frustrated sigh. “I cannot spend the rest of my life confined to these lands…”

 

Thor let out a quiet oof when Loki slumped against his chest. He rested his chin on Thor’s sternum and began to fiddle with the silver clasps in his beard, his mind suddenly miles away.

 

“Don’t you wish to see where half of your roots come from? Or perhaps seek out the man who sired you?”

 

Thor looked away, the faint lines on his brow growing deeper as the expression on his face became guarded. Loki let go of the clasps and raised his head. “What is it?”

 

Thor’s gaze flicked to the lantern on the wall, the silence between them gaining an edge of tension as it stretched on.

 

“Thor?”

 

Thor met his eyes after a beat, never one to keep him in the dark. “My father is the king of kings.”

 

“What?” Loki bolted up and slumped against the back wall as he processed the unexpected confession. Surely Thor couldn’t mean… “Odin All-Father,” he gasped, words barely a whisper. “You’re a _prince!_ ”

 

“I’m a bastard,” Thor scoffed.

 

He sat up and reached for Loki’s hand, but Loki drew back, pulling his knees to his chest as something inside him began to twist. An ugly, jealous thing. “Your father is the most powerful man in all the realms. All these years and you never told me,” Loki spat, the childish jealousy that had seized his heart twisting his mouth into a sour line.

 

Thor reached for Loki’s hand once more, ignoring his protests, half-hearted as they were. “It is of no importance, Loki.” He tucked an errant lock of hair behind Loki’s ear and pressed his palm against his neck, his blue eyes serious in their sincerity. “In another life I might have been a prince,” Thor nodded, “but in this life I am but a blacksmith, born and raised in Jötunheim. I hold no rights to any throne, and that is not a life I want, for who is to say I would have been as happy in it as I am here and now, with you.”

 

The jealous thing coiling around Loki’s heart relinquished its hold and diminished as quickly as it had appeared, and he crawled back into Thor’s arms.

 

"You make me happy too."

 

The storm outside raged on, but Loki barely heard it as he was lulled to sleep by the steady rise and fall of Thor’s familiar snores.

 

*******


	7. Chapter 7

**_An End and a Beginning_ **

 

The next couple of years were the happiest of Loki’s young life, a haze of endless summer days, golden autumn afternoons and cozy winter nights spent in Thor’s company. Finally of age, Loki was no less of a disappointment in his family’s eyes, but he was given little privileges he’d lacked as a child. The high table in the grand mead hall now held a seat for him at every feast, and Ulfrún no longer watched his every move like a hawk, but his newfound freedom was accompanied by a loss of equal size. The price Loki had paid for his mischief with the sleeping draught had gone beyond a spanking, and his father had hit him where he truly felt it by ceasing all of Loki’s lessons with Grýla. Teaching himself behind Laufey’s back with no one to guide him was a challenge, one that Loki embraced without hesitation, and the interior of Thor’s cabin had slowly filled up with Loki’s spell books and study notes.

 

The red and gold of autumn had faded in an onslaught of frost with the recent arrival of winter, but Loki had barely noticed the change in the seasons as he worked on mastering his physical illusions. His progress was much slower than it had been with Grýla, but he’d finally moved onto more demanding illusions. He’d been able to shift the color of his nail from their natural black to translucent for some time now, and this morning, he decided, would mark the day he finally shifted his entire complexion. Provided that he could concentrate…

 

Loki stared at his reflection in the dim starglass plate Thor had made for him for Yule, his brows pinched into an irritated knot as he tried to tune out the steady hammering from the smithy deeper in the cave. The clink of steel on anvil was never-ending, the sound of it echoing in the cavernous space all the way to Loki’s small study nook by the entrance. Thor had welcomed him with open arms, having no objections to Loki slowly making himself a private corner amid his many tools and hunks of unrefined metal, and Loki knew he had no right to complain.

 

He closed his eyes and his mind from the outside world and tried again. And again. And again, until the familiar sensation of a thousand tiny ants crawling all over his skin finally returned. He opened his eyes and dropped his gaze to stare at his arm where a spot of color had appeared, the indigo of his skin bleeding into pale cream. Loki held his breath as he watched it spread down to his hand and fingers, the veins on his wrist suddenly more pronounced through the strange pink hue of his skin.

 

The tingling sensation spread up to his neck and he watched, mouth agape how his complexion changed in the reflection. The young man staring back at him from the starglass shared the straight line of his nose, his sharp jawline and soft slope of his dark brows, but he was as pale as freshly fallen snow.

 

“Thor! Come and look!” he cried out, too afraid to move lest he disturb the transformation. “Hurry!”

 

The sound of Thor’s hammering ceased and Loki heard his footsteps in the hallway, but his eyes remained fixed on the looking-glass. He traced the curve of his cheekbone and found the skin as soft as before, but even stranger than his pallid skin were his eyes, which the illusion had turned green like the moss that covered the glens in the summer. The light from the lamp by his table appeared suddenly too bright and Loki blinked against the harsh sting of it.

 

A large shape appeared in the starglass behind Loki’s own reflection as Thor came to stand behind him, his hair plastered to his soot-stained cheeks. He pulled his leather apron over his head and set it aside before leaning down to wrap his large arms around Loki’s shoulders, greeting him with a nuzzle.

 

“What did you want me to-” Loki felt Thor’s arms around him go stiff, his lips by his temple withdrawing as he pulled back from their embrace. “Loki? What-- what is this?”

 

Thor’s face was a study in shock as he touched his hand to Loki’s cheek, his eyes wide as he met Loki’s green ones in the starglass.

 

“My first successful shift,” Loki announced. He sank his fangs into his bottom lip, eyes expectant as he waited to be praised for his difficult feat, but Thor shook his head and reached out to trace the white swirls of Loki’s tattoos, barely visible on his borrowed complexion.

 

“You look like-”

 

“Like an Ás,” Loki said, for he’d modeled the illusion after the tales Thor had told him of the golden race of gods.

 

Thor continued to stare, unable to mask the mild look of horror that had settled into his eyes.

 

Loki’s brows drew into a scowl and his smile fell, his cheeks suddenly a strange shade of pink. “You... do not like it?” he said quietly, the joyful pride he’d felt only a moment ago giving way to disappointment and shame. His eyes threatened to well up as the spots of color on his face turned redder still. “You think I’m hideous, don’t you?”

 

“Loki, no,” Thor shook his head and hurried to cup Loki’s face in his hands, but Loki withdrew, his own hands clutching at the edge of his enchanting table.

 

“You could never be hideous,” Thor murmured. He took a gentle hold of Loki’s shoulders and spun him around on his stool, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You could be a slippery-scaled salmon and I would still love you,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss between Loki’s horns, the one detail he had forgotten from his illusion. “But I do prefer to see you in your own skin.”

 

Loki glanced at his reflection in the starglass and exhaled a deep breath as he let go of the illusion, his complexion shifting back to its natural shade of indigo. He studied his face and traced the shape of his tattoos which were once again visible on the blue canvas of his skin. “Aye,” he nodded, “as do I.”

 

Thor crowded a little closer, the heat of the forge still clinging to his skin, his cheeks flushed and glowing. “It is a very useful skill; I’m impressed,” he said, and Loki preened at the open pride he heard in Thor’s voice.

 

Thor knelt on the floor and settled between Loki’s parted thighs, his smile lewd as he lifted the heavy mass of Loki’s hair over his shoulder to get to his neck. “I think this is cause for celebration.”

 

“Thor, you’re all sweaty,” Loki whined, giving Thor a half-hearted shove, his resistance only for show.

 

“Aye, and I shall not be the only one once I’m done with you,” Thor smirked, doing a quick work of removing his harness, for the metal joints tended to grow scalding in the smithy. He set the prosthetic on the table and leaned in to trace a path of kisses down Loki’s neck and clavicles.

 

“I’ve thought about this since you brought me my lunch,” Thor panted, the hot gust of his breath sending pleasant little shivers down Loki’s spine. “You riled me up on purpose, you little minx, made me ruin a perfectly good ax head.”

 

Loki’s mouth split into a broad, self-satisfied smile at Thor’s confession, for every word of it was true. He’d sat in Thor’s lap as he fed him pieces of roasted meat and malt bread, grinding against his crotch throughout the meal only to skip out the moment Thor reached down to undo his breeches.

 

“Go on, turn over for me,” Thor nodded, his voice like gravel as he urged Loki to stand up and settle against the table.

 

His breeches were already undone by the time Loki had assumed his position by the table, and it became clear he would not allow Loki to repeat his little stunt from earlier. Arousal trickled down Loki’s spine like a spill of water as Thor pushed his tunic up to get to the silver belts on his hips, the tiny bells on them jingling as he tugged on them with impatient hands.

 

“Why must you torment me with these confounded trinkets?” Thor groaned, fingers clumsy on the delicate fastenings.

 

Loki gave a long-suffering sigh, but he took pity on Thor and reached down to undo his belts and they fell at their feet with a soft thud.

 

“Better?” Loki asked, smirking at Thor over his shoulder.

 

“Aye….” Thor gave the belts a soft kick with the side of his boot and tugged on Loki’s breeches and smallclothes until they were bunched around his knees. Loki felt him grope at the plump flesh of his arse, his breaths already heavy with his mounting lust as he spread Loki’s cheeks.  “Much better.”

 

There were times when they would lay in bed for hours, times of slow exploration and luxuriating in the pleasure of each other’s bodies. Loki knew this would not be one such time. He could see in the wild glint that lit up Thor’s eyes and swallowed the blue of his irises that this would be fast and desperate, but no less enjoyable.

 

Thor ran his fingers through Loki’s folds a few times to make sure he was ready to receive him, the satisfied grunt behind him the only warning Loki received before he was breached. Thor gave a few shallow thrusts, but he was soon rutting into Loki with abandon, his injured hand clasping at the curve of his hip as the other one slipped over the flat plains of Loki’s stomach to seek out his cock.

 

The table was of sturdy make, carved of thick slabs of blue granite, but Loki still managed to knock some of his alchemy ingredients over as his hands sought purchase on the cluttered surface, his entire body jostled by Thor’s powerful thrusts. A sudden scent of summer filled the air when dried glacier buttercups spilled out of the jar they’d been stored in and Thor’s thrusts came to a halt when the dusty petals sent Loki into a fit of sneezes.

 

“You alright there?” Thor chuckled as Loki continued to sniffle.

 

“I am, I am, don’t stop now,” Loki panted, blowing the petals clear from his sensitive nose.

 

Thor resumed his thrusts and the skilled strokes of his hand on the hard length of Loki’s cock until Loki could no longer hold back the breathy little gasps that spilled from his lips. Thor settled some of his weight over Loki’s back and leaned down to mouth at his neck, his hand tracing the delicate bumps of his vertebrae where his tunic had been pushed up.

 

“Norns, Loki…”

 

Loki turned his face and rested his cheek against the crook of his arm, watching Thor through heavy lids, the light from the lamps bearable once more. The coil of arousal in his belly was already unraveling, and he knew he was going to spill in a moment, but Thor would be undone in a mere heartbeat. Loki read the tell-tale signs in the way his thrusts had begun to grow more erratic, his hand around Loki’s prick losing its rhythm as his own arousal swelled and twitched in the warm embrace of Loki’s body.

 

Thor’s nostrils flared, the knotted length of his braid pooling on the table as he hunched over and buried his face in the valley where the curve of Loki’s neck met the muscle of his shoulder. Loki gasped at the first warm spurt of his seed, his body stilling on the table as Thor’s thrusts came to a momentary halt. The weight of his heavy sack was like a brand against Loki's folds as Thor tried to get deeper still, his hips jerking as he milked his cock into Loki’s cunt. He fixed his grip around Loki’s own prick and resumed his stroking, his thrusts growing unhurried and lazy, the wet slide of his cock good even as it began to soften.

 

“Come on, Loki, will you spill for me?” Thor urged, working his hand with the same skill and efficiency he reserved for his hammer and anvil.

 

Loki felt Thor slip out of him, the wet sensation of seed running down the sensitive skin of his inner thigh sending his own pleasure cresting. He sank his teeth into his arm, the cold metal of his bracelet pressing against his cheek as he spent in Thor’s hand, drops of his seed landing on the stone floor beneath their feet with a wet spatter.

 

Thor pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek and gave Loki’s folds one more teasing rub as he leaned back and inspected the mess he’d made between his thighs.

 

“Ah! No-no more…” Loki jerked away, too sensitive for such a touch, the heat of his climax still thrumming in his veins.

 

Thor chuckled and fetched a cloth of linen from the nook where he did his washing after a day at the forge. He drenched it in a bucket of lukewarm water and returned to clean the traces of their lovemaking from Loki’s body, his hands gentle once more.

 

They dressed in a comfortable silence and Loki was still working on fastening his silver belts around his hips when a deep bellow of horns echoed up from the valley.

 

“Those are my father’s horns,” Loki noted, recognizing the familiar melody that spoke of important guests. “It appears we will have another boring feast tonight…”

 

“At least you’re finally allowed to attend them,” Thor smirked, slipping his hand into his harness as Loki held it out for him.

 

“I’d better go then,” Loki sighed. He leaned up on his toes to press a quick kiss to Thor’s chin and hurried out into the deepening shadows of the evening.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The streets in the Craftsmen’s District were quiet, the endless dark of midwinter driving folks indoors. The wind blew from the north tonight and there was an extra sharp bite in the air, and Loki  too, was eager to be inside.

 

Hedda plowed through the white banks, her stature still small, and it took them awhile to reach the bear dens behind his father’s keep. Loki dismounted and left Hedda with one of the handlers, heading in through the less-used side door in hopes of sneaking into his room unnoticed. He had spent most of his childhood sulking over the many mighty feasts he’d missed, but now that he was finally old enough to sit at the high table with the rest of his family, Loki found the average feast an awful bore.

 

Mead did not agree with him, muddling his brain far too quickly, and he didn't enjoy wasting the next day nursing his aching temples. The things he’d found amusing as a child now made him wrinkle his nose in disgust, and he would much rather have spent his evening playing a game of tafl with Thor than having to sit through another meal full of drunken boasting and barbaric table manners.

 

It appeared luck was not on his side, for he was barely in through the vestibule when Ulfrún materialized on his path from the shadows of a thick pillar, her fat fingers wrapping around Loki’s furs.

 

“There you are! Where on earth have you been, child? I’ve had the entire household looking for you!” Ulfrún berated.

 

She took in Loki’s disheveled appearance, her face twisting into a disapproving scowl, and Loki watched in horror as she licked at her thumb before pressing the wet tip against his cheek to wipe away a spot of black soot.

 

“What in Ymir’s name have you been doing?”

 

“Ugh, never mind where I’ve been or how I spend my time,” Loki grumbled, brushing Ulfrún’s hand away. “I’m here now and I’m heading into my room, so there’ll be no need for you to send me there.”

 

He tried to be on his way, but the old nursemaid’s fingers on his furs turned into talons.

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Ulfrún hissed, dragging Loki with her into the hallway. “Your father wants you in the great hall. We have important guests tonight.”

 

Loki’s brow knotted in confusion. “What does that have to do with me? I’m never allowed to meet anyone.”

 

Ulfrún ignored him as she rushed him down the servant’s corridor, and Loki was struck with a sudden and ill feeling of trepidation when they arrived in the great hall, for there was no sign of a feast. The hall was almost eerily silent, the large fireplace by his father’s high table the only source of warmth and light in the cavernous room.

 

Quiet murmurs drifted through the dark shadows and Loki saw his father’s tall form by the fireplace, the shadow from his massive horns jumping on the worn floor planks. Beside him were Jarl Dagfinn of Ivarheim and the Lady Inger, her long, fine-boned fingers stretched towards the flames for warmth. Loki had never seen the broad, tall jötunn behind them, but Dagfinn only had one son, which had to mean…

 

“ _No._ ” The word slipped from Loki’s lips as Ulfrún rushed him across the hall towards their guests, the ill feeling of dismay in his stomach growing as the purpose of the meeting began to dawn on him.

 

He tried to dig his heels in, but Ulfrún tightened her grip on his furs and pushed him on. “Go on, now, you do not want to make your father wait any longer.”

 

Loki was led to their guests, and having done her duty, Ulfrún gave a small curtsey and returned to the kitchens.

 

“There you are,” Laufey snapped, and there was no mistaking the disapproval in his eyes as he took in Loki’s less than presentable appearance, a hint of embarrassment coloring his weather-beaten cheek bones.

 

“Here I am,” said Loki, his brows pinched in a stubborn little frown. He eyed their guests with open suspicion and was in turn met with doubt and scrutiny.

 

Lady Inger’s pointed nose scrunched with disdain as her gaze zeroed in on a spot of soot Ulfrún had missed, and his hulking son watched Loki with equal contempt.

 

“What is going on?” Loki asked, not caring to bother with etiquette or manners.

 

“Jarl Dagfinn, the Lady Inger and their son Asger have come to discuss the future nuptials,” Laufey announced, his words like lead in Loki’s ears.

 

_“What?”_ Loki shook his head and he had to grab the backrest of the nearby armchair to keep himself upright, for it felt as if the pit of his stomach had suddenly dropped to his knees. “Whose nuptials?” Loki asked through gritted teeth, even if he already knew the answer.

 

“Why, yours of course,” Laufey laughed, as if Loki were a foolish child or a simpleton. His father wrapped his massive hand around Loki’s wrist and pulled him forward for a formal greeting.

 

Loki bit his cheek, the taste of metal bursting on his tongue as he was made to hold out his hand for Asger. His palm was rough like Thor’s, but his grip was cold and clumsy as he took Loki’s hand in his own. Loki stared at the patchwork of battle scars that marred his forearm as Asger bowed his back to press his chapped lips to Loki’s knuckles.

 

“He is rather scrawny,” Asger blurted, his eyes raking up and down Loki’s body. He took in the narrow curve of Loki’s hips and threw a doubtful look in his parent's’ direction.

 

Lady Inger shot her son a disapproving look for his lack of courtly manners, but her husband appeared to share Asger’s blunt worry. “Aye, I was told he would be able to bear many healthy sons,” he said, his words directed at Laufey, as if Loki wasn’t even in the room.

 

Laufey’s face grew a shade bluer at the mention of Loki’s dual nature, but he gave his guests a reassuring nod. “Loki is indeed of the special blood. I assure you he will be able to bear you an entire brood of sons if that is your wish, my lord Asger.”

 

Loki glared at his father, the sight of his toothy smile filling his mouth with bile. He shook his head, his nails cutting into his skin as he curled his fingers against his palms.

 

“No, I will not.”

 

All eyes snapped to Loki, the look on Laufey’s face a mix of shock and amused surprise, as if he couldn’t quite believe the words had come from his son’s mouth. “What?”

 

“I will _not_ have his children,” Loki said, his jaw set. “Not his or anyone else’s.”

 

“Loki!” Laufey’s nostrils flared, the red of his eyes deepening with his rising temper. Both Dagfinn and Asger looked insulted while Inger glared at Loki as if she wished to crush him under her boot. “Please, forgive my son’s ill manners and foolish words,” Laufey said, laying an apologetic hand on Dagfinn’s shoulder.

 

He rang a small silver bell by the fireplace and had one of the servants escort their guests out of the room. “If you would please follow Erling to my private meeting chambers, I will join you momentarily,” Laufey said, his smile polite as he waited for their guests to vacate the hall.

 

Loki braced himself for the punishment he was sure to receive, but his father’s anger still took him by surprise when the silence around them was broken by the loud slap Laufey delivered to his right cheek. Loki stumbled back and collapsed to his side, his ears ringing from the force of it as his eyes prickled with a sudden rush of tears.

 

“How _dare_ you insult my guests in such a manner?” his father snarled as he began to pace in front of the fire. “Insult _me_! My house!”

 

Loki stretched his jaw and cupped his cheek, the skin hot from the impact and sore where one of his father’s large rings had connected with the bone. He exhaled a sharp, angry breath and forced himself back to his feet, leveling Laufey with a furious glare. “And how dare _you_ just sell me off to some stranger behind my back as if I were no more than a bargaining piece or cattle for you to trade? How can I be expected to marry someone I don’t even know, let alone love?”

 

Laufey ceased his pacing and shook his head. “Foolish child,” he huffed, the air of anger that surrounded him giving way to pity. “Only peasants marry for love.” He reached out to cup Loki’s chin in his large hand, seemingly benevolent, but there was no remorse in his eyes as his gaze flitted over the purple mark he’d left on Loki’s cheek. “Whatever dalliance you’ve had with the blacksmith ends tonight.”

 

“W-what?” Loki brushed his father’s hand away and stumbled back a few steps, almost too stunned to speak. “You… _knew_?”

 

Laufey arched one deeply scarred brow, the corner of his mouth curving up to a sneer. “I suspected. _Now_ I know.” His nostrils flared as he spat between their feet. “Little whore.”

 

Loki recoiled at the insult, but greater still was the anger he felt at his foolish mistake; he’d walked straight into Laufey’s trap. His mind reeled as he tried to find his footing in the conversation, any denial of his relationship with Thor pointless.

 

“Father, please, don’t do this,” Loki sobbed, attempting to appeal to what little softness his father might hold in his heart. “Please don’t make me marry, please. I cannot spend the rest of my life as a broodmare to a man who has no other purpose for me, and who looks at me with open contempt.”

 

Laufey turned his back to Loki, leaning one heavily jeweled arm against the large mantlepiece. The silence between them stretched on, the crackle of logs loud in Loki’s ears as he waited for his father to speak.

 

“It has already been arranged,” Laufey said, his voice flat and final. “You will do your duty.”

 

“My _duty_?”

 

Laufey pulled himself to his full height, his heavy fur shawl billowing around him as he spun around and turned his eyes on Loki. “Aye, your duty. For what other purpose does a runt whore have in my house?” He looked at Loki as if he were not even his own flesh and blood, his voice void of emotion. “You took your mother’s life coming into this world, robbed her from me, from your brothers.” Laufey’s voice grew strained and his face twisted with the bitter pain of loss he harbored in his heart. “It is _the least_ you can do.”

 

Loki’s chest clenched at his father’s words, cruel and blunt as they were. The resentment he heard in his voice did not surprise him, but he had never expected to hear such a clear accusation from his own father.

 

“You will wed Asger of Ivarheim and you will birth him as many sons and daughters as is your husband’s wish.”

 

Loki snarled and rushed forward to grab at his father’s shawl, shaking and yanking at it, the meager force in his arms barely causing Laufey to flinch.

 

“I will do no such thing! You cannot make me! You cannot!”

 

His angry words echoed in the hall as he continued to yank on his father’s furs and Laufey detached himself with a simple brush of his hand, swiping at Loki as if he were a pesky fly, his voice flat as he spoke. “You will go to your room and make yourself presentable. I expect you will have come to your senses when you join us for dinner.”

 

Loki stared at his father with stunned eyes, his remaining protests dying on his lips, the eerie calm that surrounded Laufey somehow worse than the explosive anger. Nothing Loki said would change his father’s mind. He bit his lip to keep the tears that had gathered in his eyes from spilling down his cheeks and stormed out of the hall.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Loki’s ears continued to ring as he climbed the many staircases into his chambers, the bruise from Laufey’s hand still smarting. He’d never been allowed to have a key of his own, the door of his room always locked from the outside by Ulfrún or Fyrnir whenever he’d been confided to his chambers for mischief or simple disobedience, but Loki had filched a spare key years ago and he fetched it from the chest under his bed. He locked the door and pushed a block of candle wax into the keyhole and turned it into an impenetrable mess with a simple fire spell.

 

Convinced no one would get inside without breaking the entire door, he finally allowed himself to release the breath he’d been holding. It spilled out of his lungs in a shaky exhale and Loki slumped against his dressing table, the strength in his limbs leaving him. He stared at his reflection in the round looking-glass above the table, barely recognizing the youth that stared back at him, disheveled and wild like a rabid animal, his jaw twitching with barely contained fury. The right side of his face was beginning to swell, the skin around his eye already a shade darker and throbbing in time with his heartbeats.

 

The tears he’d held back in front of his father finally spilled down his cheeks. Panic swelled in his chest and robbed him of his breath as he thought of fasting hands with the sullen Asger, and binding his life to someone who was merely settling for what was left of Laufey’s brood.

 

He had to get out. He didn’t know where he would go, but he could not stay and submit to this miserable fate.

 

Loki forced himself back to his feet, his heart beating with renewed determination as he pulled out a small knapsack and began to fill it with what few provisions he had at hand in his room: a change of clothes, woolen socks to keep his feet warm, snow shoes and an old map of the realm he’d copied down from one the tomes in his father’s library. He had no idea how accurate it was, but it was better than heading out with nothing but his rather poor sense of direction.

 

He pulled on his warmest set of furs and slung the knapsack over his shoulder, his eyes darting around his room, but there was no one to say farewell to, for Lauga’s old spot by the fire had remained empty since she’d passed on. He took one last look in the mirror, his jaw set and eyes full of quiet determination as he pressed his palm to his brow, his skin tingling with the illusion he forced on himself. When he removed his hand a moment later, the inked patterns of his house were gone, his forehead a smooth canvas of blue.

 

As far as Loki was concerned, Laufey only had two sons.

 

He dropped his old rope ladder out of the window and climbed down to the snow-covered balcony below, kicking up a flurry with his feet as he landed. The rooftops were perilous in the winter with the many icy traps that lay hidden under the snow, and Loki forced himself to go slow even as the need to escape drove him on.

 

Once he had his feet safely on the ground, he made a quick stop at the kitchen doors, settling for the scraps the cook had thrown out after lunch, the risk of sneaking inside too great. He kept to the shadows as he made his way to the bear dens, waiting by the empty summer pens for the handlers to finish their evening feeding and return to their little hut.

 

Once the coast was clear, Loki rushed into the armory and picked up Hedda’s panser from its rack, compact and light compared to the bulky armor of his brothers’ companions. He carried the plates to Hedda’s private pen in the back of the building where she was finishing her evening meal. She greeted Loki with a pleased little grunt, abandoning her food pail to come and nose at his neck.

 

“It’s good to see you too,” Loki smiled, his worries forgotten for the moment. “I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner, but we must go, Hedda, do you understand? We’re leaving this place.”

 

The look in her dark eyes was confused, but she made no protest as Loki saddled her up. Thor had made certain that the panser would be easy to handle and assemble if ever Loki had to do it himself, and the plates slid into place with little trouble. He led Hedda out of her pen, his steps quiet when they passed the hut where the three handlers had settled down for a game of dice. Once they were beyond the pillared back gate, Loki climbed onto Hedda’s back and urged her down the fastest road across the city.

 

The temperatures were already close to freezing, but the skies were clear, which helped Loki’s ascent up to White Horn, and Hedda was barely up on the outcrop when Loki dismounted, rushing up to Thor’s cabin. He beat his fists against the door, but no light shone from the windows and it was clear that Thor was not home. Reigning in his mounting panic, Loki leaned against the porch railing and peered down at the quiet city below, his eyes seeking out Bestla’s inn, for if Thor was not at his cabin he could most often be found at the Sleeping Narwhal.

 

The descend down the mountainside could not be rushed, but Hedda seemed to sense Loki’s distress and she hurried down the many steep steps at a brisk pace, her furry paws never faltering. The inn was packed down to the last table, for there was little else to do to pass the time in the winter than drinking and listening to the tales the scalds told by the fireside.

 

Loki pushed through the crowded room, the smell of pork grease and tobacco smoke almost suffocating after the brisk night air. The grip of panic around his heart tightened its hold when he realized his trip had been in vain, for Thor’s usual spot underneath the narwhal skull was taken by a stranger.

 

Tears prickled in his eyes as he tried to seek Thor out in the sea of drunken patrons and his feet and arms felt numb as the panic overwhelmed him. He nearly fell on his arse when a burly, war-scarred warrior shoved him aside with his elbow on his way to the counter, but he was kept upright by a strong grip on his arm.

 

“Loki-child, what is the matter? You look as if you’ve seen a draugr.” Bestla asked, her voice laden with worry as she took in his anxious expression.

 

Loki swallowed against the heavy lump in his throat, forcing his mouth to form words. “Is- is Thor here?”

 

“I’m afraid I sent him and my kitchen boy to the trading post for a shipment of ale and mulled wine. I reckon they’ll be back on the morrow if the weather doesn’t keep them.” She glanced over her shoulder as one of the patrons bellowed for more ale. “I can tell him you came by.”

 

Loki’s throat bobbed with his nervous swallows. He could not linger through the night, for his father’s honorary guard was certain to come after him the moment his absence was discovered. “I… I have to-” Loki licked his lips and glanced around until his gaze fell on a small piece of coal the flames had spat out from the nearby fireplace. “Could I borrow a piece of vellum?”

 

Bestla gave a puzzled look at Loki’s peculiar request, but she disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a scrap of oil-stained vellum. Loki used the piece of coal to compose a quick message to Thor, rolled it up and handed it to Bestla.

 

“Will you give this to Thor the moment he returns from his errand?”

 

“Of course, child, but pray tell, has something happened?” Bestla cupped Loki’s cheek and Loki allowed himself to bask in the warmth of her hand for a brief moment before heading back out, giving her no answer.

 

He knew the main gates were not the best option to exit the city, and he chose the more loosely guarded route meant for sleds and those who were on skis. There was only one guard at the gate and the man was huddled against the outer wall of the small guardhouse, his head drooping in a manner that spoke of imminent slumber.

 

Loki pulled his hood on, his face hidden in shadow. Luck, it appeared, was finally on his side, for the man barely even acknowledged him as he approached the gate, only interested in the business of those who wanted to come into the city, not those who were on their way out.

 

Finally safely beyond Ugård’s walls, Loki exhaled a sigh of relief, his breath evaporating in the cold air. He watched the guard over his shoulder for a moment to make certain his attention was elsewhere before he urged Hedda into a run. Snow dusted around her heavy footfalls as she rushed through the quiet fields, their path lit by the cold light of the waning moon high above their heads. Loki could not remember the exact route he had taken with Thor, but he hoped he could find his way to the small hut where they had spent his nameday a few years ago. It was a long journey to make, but it was one of the few places Loki knew how to find in the wilds, and the farther he was from Utgård, the farther he’d be from the future his father had designed for him.

 

“Don’t worry, Hedda. Thor will meet us tomorrow, he’ll come, I know he will.”

 

Hedda kept a steady pace for nearly three hours before she began to tire and Loki allowed her to slow down, her heavy snorting filling the still silence around them. Loki drew out the old map and lit a ball of seidr to study it. He was fairly certain they had passed the marshlands, but it was impossible to know for sure, for there was no path to follow.

 

His eyes darted between the map and the dark shape of the mountains on their left and his gaze landed on the crudely illustrated barrows on the worn vellum. His skin crawled as he recalled the many frightening stories Ulfrún had told him of the draugr that were said to dwell in its dark, maze-like depths, and he knew he wanted to stay as far away from the place as possible.

 

He urged Hedda to keep an eastward course until they reached what appeared to be the edge of a vast glacier. Loki had no memory of the place and he wondered if they had steered too far from the path he and Thor had taken on their way to Holmvik, but the thought of turning back or heading towards the barrows sat ill with him. There were no other tracks anywhere around them, but Loki urged Hedda on, hoping he could set their course right on the other side of the ice field.

 

The terrain was flat and easy to travel, but something about their surroundings sent Loki’s skin crawling as a sense of dread began to grow at the back of his mind. Even Hedda appeared hesitant, her steps careful as she carried Loki towards the row of mountains in the distance. They both startled when the silence was suddenly broken by a deep, rumbling crackle as the glacier around them seemed to come alive.

 

“Hush, it’s alright,” Loki whispered, leaning down to scratch at Hedda’s ear, trying to calm his startled companion even as his own heart drummed a fearful beat in his chest.

 

There was another crack, this time from further to their right and Loki watched with horrified awe as a deep, black chasm appeared in the ice.

 

“Norns…”

 

Realizing the danger he’d put them in, Loki turned Hedda around, wanting to be out of the accursed place as fast as possible. She seemed to share his feelings, her paws picking up speed as she retraced her steps. The glacier around them continued to crack and rumble, and Loki lay low on Hedda’s back, clutching at her reins in his fists like a lifeline.

 

He lifted his head just in time to see the snow on their path shift.

 

“Hedda, no! Stop! Stop!”

 

A deep boom rose from beneath them, as if someone had struck a bolt of lightning into the ice. The snow appeared to bubble like boiling water before it suddenly fell into a yawning chasm of black as the ground before them split open. Loki pulled on Hedda’s reins and the bear tumbled into the snow muzzle first as she tried to stop her momentum. She fell on her side, but Loki was thrown off her back, rolling, rolling, straight into the dark crevasse.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was a mob of angry traders by the front gates when Thor guided the sled past them, all of them demanding to be let inside at once and shaking their fists at the guards.

 

“Looks like they’re not opening the gates this morning,” Birger noted from the cargo bed, poking his face out behind his thick furs. “Wonder what’s happened?”

 

Thor watched the commotion at the gates over his shoulder and steered the dogs to the side gate, hoping it would be open for them, for he was in no mood for a holdup. The night he’d spent at the trading post had been cold and uncomfortable and he longed for a hot bath and the soft comfort of his own bed.

 

He gave the dogs a command to slow down as they approached the small sledder gate, and Thor exhaled a low groan into his scarf when he saw it was closed and guarded by four men.

 

“Halt,” one of the guards called out, raising his hand in the air. “Only citizens are permitted to enter Utgård until the Jarl commands otherwise.”

 

“Then be a good lad and let us pass, for we’ve been on the road since dawn.” Thor removed his hood and watched as the young guard’s eyes lit up with recognition.

 

“My apologies, master forger, I should have recognized you.”

 

Thor pointed to the main gates that remained closed. “What’s going on? Why is the city on lockdown?”

 

“The Jarl’s son ran away last night,” said another guard, visibly annoyed about having to stand out in the cold to guard a small gate.

 

Thor lurched forward on the runners, his grip on the handle suddenly so tight that the wood threatened to splinter. “ _What?_ ”

 

“Aye, disappeared sometime during the night, the little one, Loki, is it? No one’s to leave the city until he’s found, Jarl’s orders.”

 

“Open the gate,” Thor barked, startling the young lad by the bolt mechanism into action.

 

The boy scrambled to pull on the lever that controlled the gate and Thor ordered the dogs back into a fast-paced trot, the kegs of ale they were hauling behind them nearly rolling out from the small sled they were in.

 

Birger slid down in the cargo bed and tried to hold onto the railings as the sled bounced on the well-worn tracks, tilting and lurching at every turn on the narrow streets. They reached the Sleeping Narwhal in record time and Thor hopped off the runners before the sled had even come to a complete halt.

 

“Can you manage the kegs on your own?” he asked, glancing at Birger over his shoulder.

 

“Aye, aye,” the boy nodded, perplexed by Thor’s sudden hurry.

 

Thor rushed for the kitchen door where Bestla stood waiting for him.

 

“Thor!”

 

“What’s happened? Where’s Loki?”

 

Bestla shook her head, her eyes apologetic. “He came by last night, looking for you.” Her voice grew thick as she began to choke up. “I saw something was amiss, but I… I should have stopped him-”

 

“Hush, it is not your fault,” Thor said softly, taking a hold of her shoulders as they began to shake.

 

Bestla hurried to reach into the pocket on her apron and pulled out a roll of vellum. “He left you this.”

 

Thor removed his gloves to unwrap the scroll, his eyes jumping on the hastily scribbled runes, the coal so smudged that the words were barely legible. Worry gave way to anger as he read on and found out about the marriage arrangement Laufey had made with the jarl of Ivarheim, intending to sell his son for ample hunting grounds in the east. It was no great surprise, but the grip of Thor’s prosthetics tightened around the note, and he grit his teeth at the hot burst of jealousy in his chest.

 

The note was short and sparsely worded, but at the end was a heartfelt request for Thor to join Loki at the old campsite on the edge of Járnviðr. Thor crumpled the letter in his fist and stuck it into a nearby torch to destroy it.

 

“I know where he’s gone to.”

 

Bestla’s face relaxed, the worry leaving her in a relieved exhale. “Thank Ymir and all the Elders...”

 

Thor turned his gaze to the mountainside where his many commissions sat in his workshop unfinished. He’d started to expand his cabin just last fall, intending to put in proper washing facilities and a small study for Loki. His entire life was here, within the high walls of Utgård, but he felt no sudden bout of melancholy or regret at the thought of leaving. He’d known from the moment he gave his heart to Loki that a day such as this would be in their future, the fear of it always present in the far reaches of his mind, for no matter his parentage, he was no noble lord, and Loki had never been his to keep.

 

Bestla cupped his cheek, her smile knowing and a touch sad when Thor met her gaze. “My dear boy,” she sighed, her red eyes bright with unshed tears.

 

“Grandmother, I’m sorry, but I have to go with him,” Thor said, doing his best to keep his voice from breaking as he pressed his own, larger hand over hers. If Loki was going to flee, Thor would be by his side.

 

“Of course you do,” Bestla nodded, her eyes understanding.

 

"Loki is... He is my-"

 

"I _know_ , Thor. I know," Bestla smiled. "You go and get him back now. I’ll go by the cabin and pack you both enough provisions for the journey to the western border and meet you at the old hunting lodge.”

 

“Thank you.” Thor gave her hand a grateful squeeze, but his face grew grim when he turned his eyes on the panting herd of dogs. “I know Elva would go as far as I have need of her, but the smaller dogs are too exhausted for another run.”

 

Bestla squared her shoulders and clapped her hands at Bjarke who sulked in his pen as usual for being left behind on the previous night. “Up you get, you lazy old bear. Your master has need of you.”

 

Bjarke seemed to pick up on the seriousness of the situation and he was up and ready to be saddled faster than Thor had seen him move in over a century. He decided to leave the panser behind to make Bjarke’s load a little lighter; for he could always create new armor and he needed Bjarke to move as swiftly as possible.

 

Bestla disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a knapsack full of provisions to see Thor safely to the campsite. He threw the knapsack over his shoulder and hurried up to the saddle, for he knew Loki had never been the greatest of trackers, and it was no easy feat to navigate the wilds in the winter. If Loki was not where he was meant to be, if he was lost in the wilds… There was not a single moment to waste.

 

“We’ll meet you at the lodge,” Thor called, waving over his shoulder as he urged Bjarke into a run.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He set off into the direction of the Yngval marshlands, spotting Loki’s tracks almost as soon as he steered off from the main road, thanking the Norns for the clear weather. He followed them for a handful of hours and paused when the trail suddenly veered east, towards the glacier of Glæsisvellir, a perilous wasteland of ever-moving ice planes and deep, deadly chasms.

 

Thor’s chest grew tight with worry, but he pushed the fear aside and steeled his nerves, urging Bjarke to keep a fast pace, his eyes constantly on the tracks Loki and Hedda had left in their wake. It was easy to get lost in the tundra in winter time, for most of the landmarks were hidden under snow, and without a canvas of stars to point the way, the only way to keep to your path was to know the land like the back of your hand.

 

It was late afternoon when Thor finally reached the edge of the glacier. He dismounted to investigate the tracks, spitting out a litany of curses when he saw them lead straight into the ice fields. “Oh, Loki…” He fetched a pair of ice picks and a large coil of sturdy rope from one of the saddle bags and hung them on his belt. “You wait here, old friend,” he said, giving Bjarke’s muzzle a rub before continuing to follow Loki’s tracks.

 

The ice of Glæsisvellir was ancient, for even the brief summer months did not manage to melt it. Thor had never set foot here, but he’d heard many sad tales of the fools who had attempted to take a shortcut to the lands that lay beyond, most of them meeting their demise in the many chasms that hid under the pristine snow.

 

He’d not made it far when a sorrowful wail reached his ears, and peering into the clear horizon, Thor could see Hedda slumped in the snow, her pitiful cries filling Thor’s heart with worry. He remembered such cries well from the war from bears who’d lost their masters, wandering alone on the bloodstained battlefield.

 

Thor broke into a run, ignoring the added element of danger it brought, desperate to reach her side. Hedda ceased her wailing when she spotted him, and she bounced up and rose to her hind legs to greet him.

 

“It’s alright,” Thor murmured, sinking his hands into the bear’s white scruff as she gave him a clumsy embrace. “Where is Loki? Where is your master?” he asked, peering around with frantic eyes.

 

The bear led Thor to the spot she’d been guarding and the blood in his veins chilled when he saw the yawning chasm in the snow.

 

“No… _No_.” Thor fell to his knees and crawled the remaining few feet to the crevasse, peering into the dark depths below through the mist of tears in his eyes. He swallowed against the feeling of utter desolation, his voice a broken whisper when he called, “Loki.” He cleared his throat and tried again, this time louder. “Loki! Can you hear me?”

 

There was no answer save for the echo of his own voice, bouncing back at him from the icy walls of the chasm. It was impossible to know how far its depths went, or if Loki’s body had even reached the bottom, for fissures like these tended to grow narrow out of the blue, trapping the poor sod that’d had the misfortune of falling into one.

 

Thor knew there was no time to waste. He wiped at his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath and set to work. He used the ice picks to dig a deep hole into the snow until he hit hard permafrost and with practiced ease, struck one of the picks into the ice, so deep it would not be moved unless someone moved the ice around it. He attached the other end of the rope to the pick and tied the remaining end around his own torso. The coil was long, but not endless and Thor could only hope he reached Loki before it ran out.

 

He lowered himself into the chasm where the crack was at its widest, but it was still a tight fit for his broad shoulders. He used the remaining ice pick and the heels of his iron-tipped boots to descend deeper into the depths of the glacier, his movements careful and controlled. There were places where the chasm grew so narrow that Thor was forced to move to the side until he found a spot that allowed him to squeeze through, but he made sure not to stray too far from the path Loki had likely fallen through.

 

The light from the top barely reached down anymore and Thor wished he had Loki’s skill to manipulate the elements, for a ball of seiðr induced light would have come in handy as he tried to peer down into the black void below. The deep crackles of the glacier echoed through the ice, the sounds louder underneath the earth. He was almost out of rope and it was getting harder to ignore the mounting panic in his chest. “Loki! Can you hear me? Please, answer me!”

 

He almost missed it, the quiet whine that rose from the darkness below, his own voice still echoing back at him. He held his breath and listened, his mouth splitting into a relieved grin when he heard Loki call his name nearby.

 

“Thor…”

 

A dim little ball of seiðr floated up to illuminate his way and Thor began to work the ice pick as fast as he could, lowering himself down towards the small voice below.

 

“Thor!”

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

 

The ball of seiðr followed him down and he could finally see Loki below him, his slender arms outstretched towards him where he lay in a cradle of ice, a small safe island in the black depths that continued ever deeper.

 

“Stay still, Loki, I’m coming to you,” Thor said when Loki began to sit up. If he fell from the spot of ice there would be nothing Thor could do to save him. “Are you hurt?”

 

“Yes, my- my ankle, I think it might be broken,” Loki gasped, his voice strained with pain as he reached to touch his foot. “I managed to shape the ice and stop my fall and I tried to climb up, but I could not use my leg.”

 

Thor saw there were small seiðr-made steps in the wall of ice on his right, but he doubted Loki could have climbed up even if his ankle had not been injured. “It’s alright, I’ll get you out of here. Do you think that shelf of ice will hold my weight?”

 

Loki glanced down, a look of hesitation passing over his features. “I- I don’t know, I’m sorry-"

 

“It’s alright,” Thor said softly, wanting Loki to remain calm, for there were no second chances. “Do you think you can use your seiðr to fortify it while I’m on it?”

 

Loki drew in a deep, calming breath and gave a determined nod. “I can. I will.” He pressed his palm beside his knee, the ice below him lighting up with the blue glow of his seiðr, and Thor could tell he was pouring all of his remaining strength into his spell, his trust in Loki’s powers absolute as he finally lowered his boots onto the shelf of ice.

 

Loki kept his eyes closed as Thor hurried to secure the rope around their bodies, careful not to jostle his ankle as he lifted him onto his back. The spell fizzled out the moment Loki’s hand lost the connection with the ice. There was a loud crack underneath Thor’s feet and Loki cried out, his hold around Thor’s neck so tight he could barely draw breath.

 

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Thor whispered, hurrying to strike his ice pick into the wall.

 

His weight was finally off the shelf of ice, the imminent threat of falling to their death gone, but the climb back to the surface was more of a challenge than Thor had realized, the muscles in his thighs trembling as he attempted to pull their combined weight up, his boots slipping on the icy walls.

 

“Here, I can help you,” Loki whispered, his chin pressed against Thor’s shoulder, and reaching out, he allowed his seiðr to flow from his fingers once more.

 

The ice changed shape under his spell and Thor finally got purchase for his feet on the steps Loki was creating on their path. He used the small projections to pull them up towards the light as Loki continued to pour his seiðr into the ice, widening their path whenever the passage grew too narrow. Thor was drenched in sweat by the time he finally felt the kiss of fresh winter air on his cheeks, his arms trembling with the effort it took to pull them up the remaining few feet.

 

He crawled out of the chasm and slumped down on the snow, Loki’s weight on his back setting his straining heart at ease, for it meant he was safe, here, with Thor. He pulled away from the crevasse and undid the rope that held them together, rolling onto his back so he could cradle Loki in his arms and hold him to his heaving chest and nose at his neck.

 

“You little fool,” Thor whispered softly, his voice tight with an overwhelming myriad of feelings. “What on earth possessed you to cross the most dangerous glacier in Jötunheim? Do you have any idea-” He closed his mouth to press his lips to Loki’s temple, unable to continue as he felt his entire body tremble with relief.

 

“I’m sorry,” Loki mewled, burrowing into Thor’s embrace. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I got lost but I didn’t want to turn back, I couldn’t, I-”

 

“It’s alright,” Thor murmured, capturing Loki’s cold little mouth in a reassuring kiss. “You don’t have to go back, not if you don’t want to.”

 

“I can’t. I won’t.”

 

Loki had been headstrong for as long as Thor had known him, but he had never seen such fierce resolve on his young face. He pressed his gloved hand to Loki’s brow when he realized the marks of his house were gone, erased by his own seiðr.

 

“I won’t marry some stranger,” Loki said, clear-eyed and determined.

 

Thor noticed Loki’s right cheek was bruised and he could guess the injury was not from his fall. His nostrils flared and his hands balled into fists inside his fur gloves as he cursed Laufey to Hel under his breath. “No, you won’t,” he agreed.

 

The scowl on Loki’s face softened. He cupped Thor’s cheek and slipped his fingers down to tug on one of the braids on his beard. “I’m only ever yours, Thor.”

 

Thor touched the cold tip of his nose to Loki’s, their breaths mingling. “As I am yours.”

 

The tender moment was interrupted when Hedda rushed towards them, her sad wails replaced by an audibly happy roar. Loki rose up to his knees, his movements careful, but he managed to wrap his arms around the bear’s scruffy neck and Thor helped him onto Hedda’s back, eager to get Loki away from the glacier.

 

They retraced their tracks as fast as they could, constantly aware of their every step. Thor kept his eyes on the ground, walking ahead of Hedda and Loki, the tension in his body releasing only when he could see Bjarke’s large form waiting for them at the edge of the glacier, the danger finally over.

 

He urged Loki to remain in the saddle as he removed his deerskin boot to inspect his sore ankle. “Can you move it at all?” Loki rolled his ankle from side to side while Thor continued to feel it with his uninjured hand, pressing here and there, relieved to see the injury was not likely as bad as he’d feared. He pressed a kiss to the sole of Loki’s woolen sock. “I don’t think it’s broken, only sprained. It’ll heal soon enough if you keep your weight off of it.”

 

Thor made sure Loki bore no other, hidden injuries, but he appeared to be fine save for a few scrapes on his cheeks and the prolonged exposure to the cold winter air. Thor handed him a flask of strong cloudberry liqueur and urged Loki to take a few pulls to get his blood flowing. Once the clatter of his teeth began to subside, Thor climbed onto Bjarke’s back and began to lead them away from the glacier.

 

“We’re going south?” Loki asked when he noticed that Thor was not leading him towards the campsite where Loki had intended for them to rendezvous.

 

“Aye, Bestla is meeting us at a hunting lodge near the shores of Kvíslavatn. She will have provisions for us.”

 

Loki rushed Hedda into a short trot until he’d reached Thor’s side, and the two bears fell into a stride. “Provisions?” Loki asked, his mouth curving up with a tentative smile.

 

Thor smirked at him from the shadow of his hood but said no more. He was eager to reach the lodge before nightfall, for he could tell Loki was still exhausted from the night he’d spent trapped within the icy prison and they rode on at a steady pace.

 

The last faint rays from the setting sun painted the frozen shores of Kvíslavatn with warm orange hues when they came to their journey’s end. Thor was relieved to see smoke rising from the chimney of the small hunting lodge, the windows lit with warm, inviting light. A shadow passed by one of the windows when they drew into the yard, and the door was flung open a moment later when Bestla ran out to greet them.

 

She rushed to Loki’s side, lifting him down from Hedda’s back and reaching out to enfold him. “Dear child, you had us so worried…”

 

She swung one of her plump arms around Loki’s waist when Thor informed her of the sprained ankle, and together they limped across the yard and into the warm cabin.

 

Thor joined them inside once he’d made sure Bjarke and Hedda were comfortable in their pen. The lodge had likely been empty all winter, but Bestla had managed to drive away the cold and make the small space as cozy as her inn. Long shadows danced on the thick log walls, the flames in the large fireplace spreading warmth into every nook and cranny.

 

She served them a large meal of mutton and creamy potatoes and poured them both hot cups of mulled wine. Once their bellies were full and Loki was no longer shivering from shock or cold, Thor decided it was time to discuss why they were all here.

 

He allowed Loki to tell them of what had transpired between him and his father and why he’d fled into the night, and it became clear there would be no future for Loki in Utgård save for the one Laufey had set for him. Bound to his father’s will, he would be married off to an influential family of Laufey’s choice, and there was naught Thor could do to prevent it without inviting the Jarl's wrath upon himself, the knowledge of their exposed relationship dangerous in Laufey's hands.

 

Loki reached across the table to entwine his fingers with Thor’s metallic ones. “Please, Thor, I cannot stay… Nor do I want to, for my heart yearns to see the many realms that lie beyond our borders, and I wish to see them with _you_.”

 

Thor loved his homeland, but he knew his heart would be glad wherever he went, as long as he had Loki by his side. He turned to look at Bestla who placed her own hand on top of theirs, the palm of her skin still as soft as it had been when Thor was a child.

 

“Grandmother…”

 

“Your future lies with Loki,” she said, her eyes crinkling with her smile. “I will be fine here, knowing that you are happy, wherever you choose to go.” Her words were meant for both of them, and she squeezed their hands before rising up from her chair and laying a soft kiss to both their brows.

 

She bid them a goodnight, but Thor knew in his heart that it was a goodbye, and he swallowed against the tightness in his throat as he watched her withdraw into one of the bedrooms. He parted his thighs as Loki limped across the small distance around the table to settle into his lap.

 

He studied the smooth, unblemished skin of Loki’s brow, the marks of his family and noble blood gone. The implication of Loki’s illusion was clear enough, but Thor wanted to be certain there would be no regrets. “You understand that if we leave these lands together, we won’t be able to return for a very long time?”

 

Loki worried his bottom lip between his teeth, but there was no hesitation in his eyes when he nodded.

 

“And you’re still sure you want to do this?”

 

“Are you?” came Loki’s reply, and it was clear he would not force Thor to follow him against his will.

 

“You know I would take you to the very roots of Yggdrasil if that were your wish,” Thor smiled.

 

Loki leaned in to nuzzle at his cheek, his lips warm and sweet with the spices from his drink when he pressed them against Thor’s, his kiss the only thing Thor needed to make up his mind.

 

They departed before daybreak, the sky as dark as it had been when they fell asleep. Bestla did not come to bid them farewell, and Thor respected her choice, knowing it would be easier on her. He helped Loki up onto Hedda’s back, making sure they had all the provisions they needed in the two small sleds their companions were made to pull with them. He gave the cabin one last glance over his shoulder, the shadow in the window catching his eye, and he waved his grandmother goodbye one final time before turning his eyes towards the horizon.

 

Loki watched Thor from the shadow of his fur cowl, his smile excited and eyes full of adventure. “So… Where to?”

 

Thor reached over to touch Loki’s shoulder, his own smile equally excited. “Wherever you wish to go, Loki.”

 

_**Fin.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback <3 This fandom is the best! I really hope everyone has enjoyed the story and finds the conclusion satisfying! I really enjoyed writing this AU, and I wanted to leave the ending somewhat open for potential sequels now that Thor and Loki are free to love each other openly, and Loki gets to explore all the other realms with his boo :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
